Love Like Oxygen
by KKWrackspurt
Summary: He wanted Granger to notice him. Look at him and see what he had been reduced to. He wanted her to know that somehow it was her fault. Draco Malfoy wanted Hermione Granger's attention but he wanted to hurt her too. Chapter 10 is up!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**

J.K Rowling's characters are her own. I am only expanding them using my imagination. Although I'm not new to fanfiction and I am a writer, this is the first fanfiction piece I have written. So reviews and constructive feedback are welcome!

I am a Dramione shipper (not sorry) and this story idea came to me as I was daydreaming at work (yikes!). The story is rated M for mature content that will be evident later in the story and for mild violence.

Now that that's out of the way: Happy Reading!

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

Chapter 1

He saw her standing there, across the road in the shelter of the market's awning. Her bushy brown hair was wet and the tops of her shoulders were visible through the soaked fabric of her soft white blouse. She clutched a woven basket to her chest trying to keep her groceries dry.

It was raining.

The end of the war had treated Hermione Granger well. She no longer had that gaunt, malnourished look Draco remembered from the battle of Hogwarts. She had grown taller and the colour in her cheeks had returned. They were red right now; scarlet like the colours of Gryffindor House from the sudden chill of the rain. And Draco Malfoy hated it.

He hated every bit of her. He could not stand to see her hair, that once, Bellatrix had nearly pulled from her scalp. When she spoke, he did not hear words, only the shrill screams and pleas she made as she lied to protect her friends in Malfoy Manor three years ago.

What he hated most of all was her tattoo like scar. It was crude, vile and permanent. She wore it proudly. A daily reminder, to everyone at the Ministry, that the horrid values of pureblood supremacy had no place in this new world.

Draco ground his teeth. She was his personal living nightmare, haunting him in the hallways of the Ministry. Reminding him of his cowardice and failure.

Hermione was a well loved war heroine. Her heroic deeds had gained her a position on the Wizengamot and a permanent job in the Ministry as the Head of the new Magical Creatures and Wizards Reconciliation Department.

Yet when Draco looked at her, he could only see that skinny girl lying on the floor of his family home with a fierce determination in her eyes to keep Harry Potter's plans to defeat Voldemort a secret. She effectively changed the fate of all the people who were victims of Voldemort's ideology, from her one act of defiance.

Granger had saved him too.

He had lied to his father. Draco knew Harry Potter's, Hermione Granger's and Ron Weasley's faces like his own but that night, for the first time in his life, he chose to rebel. He knew that Potter had the best chance to defeat the Dark Lord and create a world in which his family would be safe from harm forever.

Draco's dream had come true, at least partially. Lucius Malfoy was administered the Dementor's Kiss for his crimes but Narcissa Malfoy was found guilty for co-conspiracy. Potter himself had given testimony for Narcissa, insisting that she was just as much a victim of Voldemort, as Draco Malfoy was an under-aged wizard subjected to physical and mental abuse by his father.

Granger had supported Narcissa as well and even testified for Draco at his trial. He was indebt to the Golden Trio from that day on. He hated that even more.

The Ministry forgave Draco's crimes and the Auror Department placed Narcissa Malfoy permanently on the "Potential Threat" list. She was also forbidden to leave Malfoy Manor for ten years. At least, one parent was safe.

Still the stigma of being a former Death Eater was ever evident in the behaviour of the wizarding community. The Leaky Cauldron's owner, Tom, refused to serve Draco. Madam Malkin insisted on Draco seeking robes elsewhere. In fact, nearly every shop on Diagon Alley had shut its doors to "The Forgiven Lot".

Trying to seek occupation was the hardest challenge yet. After Harry Potter's great break in and escape three years ago, the Gringotts Goblins had altogether stopped trusting wizards – Dark or not. The Ministry did not want to hire previously convicted criminals or the children of previous Death Eaters either. This was not the free world in Draco's imagination. Nothing had truly changed, only the tables were turned.

To pay for their crimes, the Malfoy family were stripped of their wealth. They were allowed to keep their ancient manor house but the ministry seized half of their gold and all the items in their home. An empty home for an empty family. _How fitting_ , Draco thought.

Narcissa used some of the remaining gold in their vault to furnish the living room in the manor and two bedrooms – one for her and the other for Draco. Now, even the left over gold had begun to run out.

In his desperation, Malfoy had begged his friend, Blaise Zabini, to help him gain a position in the Ministry. It was one of the most shameful moments of Draco's life but Zabini had managed to convince the head of Muggle Artifacts Department to hire Draco as a temporary employee.

And so, he met Granger again, three years after her testimony in the Ministry dungeons.

The rain was falling harder now, creating an even thicker veil between him and Granger. She did not see him but Draco was used to it. She never even saw him at the Ministry. It was worse than being ignored. It was as if he never existed.

Initially, Draco was grateful towards Potter and Granger for their help in saving his mother but as discrimination against the former associates of the Dark Lord grew amongst the wizarding community, Draco had become hateful once more.

Granger's presence at the Ministry only served as a reminder of how his family was reduced to near poverty while the Golden Trio only incurred respect and power. He hated them but most of all he hated himself because he knew he deserved his fate.

After all, taking the Dark Mark had been his decision. What came after did not matter.

For months, Draco's thoughts tormented him. He wanted Granger to see him, _look at him_ and see what he had been reduced to. He wanted her to know that somehow it was her fault. Her`s and Potter`s.

Draco wanted Hermione Granger`s attention but he wanted to hurt her too.

o-o-o

Hermione hugged the basket closer to her chest. She wasn't expecting it to rain. Then again, after spending most of one's time underground in the Ministry of Magic, one forgets what real weather ought to be like. The weather and the windows in her office were charmed to reflect a grassy lawn with never ending sunlight – like the view of her backyard from her parent's home.

She smiled at the thought.

The past three years had been a blur after the war. It was chaotic but progressive in the realm of magical politics. Hermione did not realize how and when she became the forefront of the Magical Creatures and Wizards Reconciliation Movement. One day she was preaching the values of Magical Cooperation at a Post-War Conference and the next day Kingsley, now Minister of Magic, approached her with an offer to lead the new department at the Ministry, and supervise the creation of the Magical Creatures and Wizards Reconciliation Act.

Since then, she had lost herself in her work. Hermione knew this Act could change the magical ties between magical creatures and wizards forever. For centuries wizards had oppressed their fellow magical species, forcing them to stay on designated lands or accept enslavement and suffer belittlement.

It is no surprise then that the ties between centaurs, goblins, house elves and the rest of the wizarding community were so strained. The deep rooted prejudices, both on part of other magical species and the wizarding community, is what Voldemort had manipulated to gain power.

 _No more._

Hermione had a fierce determination to change that. _Unity will bring us strength and peace. Equality will bring us justice and community._ These were the ideals Hermione envisioned while working on the laws that would soon govern the new wizarding world.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the darkened street for fleeting moment. She saw a silhouette with platinum white hair standing across the street. His eyes shone bright, staring directly at her. _Who was that?_

Hermione could not see his face nor could she make out the figure of a man through the torrential sheet of rain separating them. Convinced that she must have imagined it, she turned her thoughts to Ron.

Hermione's position at the Ministry meant long hours at work and very little time for the rest of her life. Yet Ronald had been understanding and patient. After the war, they decided to officially court but they didn't want to rush the progress of their relationship. Both wanted to give their efforts to the rebuilding of the Magical community because that was what they had fought for.

Ron and Harry had joined the Auror Academy a few months after the battle of Hogwarts. Hermione had chosen instead to volunteer her time to Professor McGonagall to help rebuild the castle. Later she created an aid group sponsored by Harry to help displaced and imprisoned muggle-born witches and wizards find their families. Ginny took charge of the aid group once Hermione joined the Ministry but Hermione still volunteered when she had time.

Time.

She really lacked that one element in her life. Time for Ron, time for Harry, the Weasleys— _herself_! Funny that it took a thunderstorm to force her to stop and think about her life.

Regardless, Hermione needed to get home soon. Ron, Harry and Ginny were coming for dinner for a much needed reunion. She was looking forward to a good evening of warm food, wine and laughter.

She looked up to the sky once more. The clouds were thick, grey and menacing. The rain was not going to stop soon and she could not Disapparate in the middle of a street filled with muggles. She would have to search for an empty alley. Trying her best to shelter her groceries with her upper body, Hermione stepped out into the cold wet street.

Her clothes were soaked in seconds. She could barely see the road in front of her but kept up a brisk pace down the road peeking into the small alleys as she walked. Finally, she found one that was empty. Hermione strained her eyes to scan the alley for a final time before slipping her wand from her sleeve. Assured that she was alone, she closed her eyes to focus on her destination.

Suddenly there was a vice-like grip on her elbow, a flash of lighting and white blonde hair, the familiar tug of Disapparation at her navel, and Hermione was sucked into a black void.

 _Malfoy!?_

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 **Reviews! Reviews! Reviews!**

Always looking for constructive feedback so please inbox me with feedback, questions and comments.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews Ditte3 and Diamondwilson158! As you asked for more: here it is :)

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

Chapter 2

The basket full of groceries crashed to the floor, produce spilling and rolling to the corners of the room.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Hermione's wand flew from her hand and into the waiting palm of Draco Malfoy. She remained on the floor, too shocked to speak.

 _Malfoy! What-?_

He stared down at her with a look of deep loathing. He was breathing heavily as he pointed his wand at her face. Instantly, Hermione's mind transported her back to the Forest of Dean when the snatchers had caught her, Harry, and Ron. Sensing danger, her adrenaline kicked in. Hermione pushed Malfoy's arm and scrambled away from him.

 _Where was she?_ In a room. Rooms have doors. There! Up ahead to the right. She wrenched herself to her feet and ran. She was inches from the door when suddenly her feet left the floor and she was levitating seven feet in the air. She kicked and waved her arms in vain, panic clouding her mind.

"Let me go!" she screamed as she twisted in the air, trying to find something to hold onto.

" _Silencio!"_ cried Malfoy and Hermione choked on her voice.

"Stop moving. Stop it! Before I drop you!" he warned.

After a few more attempts to scream, Hermione willed herself to calm down. Think rationally. _If he wanted to kill you, he would have already._ She forced herself to relax her limbs, hanging them limp at her sides, her mind racing in anticipation. Several seconds later, she felt herself being lowered to the floor.

With shaking hands, Hermione steadied herself on her fours and finally looked at Malfoy. He still had his wand pointed at her. _Her_ wand was in his other hand. His face looked gaunt, deep circles lined his eyes and his hair was plastered to his head, wet. His dark clothes were dripping water, creating a pool at his feet. His skin nearly translucent.

"What happened to you?" asked Hermione but no words reached her ears.

"W _hat-?"_ he said sharply. His eyes shifted nervously and his wand hand trembled vicariously.

 _He is just as scared as I am_ , realized Hermione. Slowly, she raised her hands to her throat, tapping at it to indicate to him that she wanted to talk.

He understood.

"Okay," he said, not letting his guard down, his body tense and taught as a bow. "But you won't run! Got it?"

Hermione nodded her acceptance.

"There is no way out," he warned, "there are…there are charms here. You can't Disapparate! And..and only I can open the door."

Again, Hermione acknowledged his terms with several nods. Malfoy flicked his wand and Hermione gasped, her voice returning.

"What do you want from me?" she rasped.

Malfoy's jaw trembled in answer. He looked like he wanted to say something but was struggling to let the words out. Instead, his eyes shifted nervously again around the room. He was actively avoiding looking at her.

Something was not right. For someone who had kidnapped Hermione, Malfoy seemed too restless and unsure of his plans. As if, he was in disbelief of his own actions. Was he working with someone? Was he ordered to kidnap her? Why? And by who?

Was there a Death Eater resistance that had formed without the Ministry knowing? Voldemort was dead, and most of his devoted followers were dead too or imprisoned, but Malfoy had been forgiven by the Wizengamot. So who was leading Malfoy now?

"Malfoy," Hermione tried again, "Who are you working for? Are there more Death Eaters?"

Silence.

"Why have you brought me here?"

Malfoy's hand tightened on his wand.

"Where am I Malfoy? Are you raising a resistance against the Ministry?"

"Shut up," he mumbled.

But the old Gryffindor spark, that had remained dormant in Hermione for three years, was lit again. Hyper aware of her surroundings and the situation she was in, Hermione switched her scared mind to critical mode. She would use Malfoy's hesitance against him and gain as much information as possible about this rebel group before attempting her escape.

"Are there more of you?" Hermione asked.

"Shut up!"

"Your old Slytherin pals? Are they in this too?"

"No!"

"Are any of them in the Ministry?'

"No! Stop talking!"

"What's the plan, Malfoy?! Picking up where Voldemort _left_ you lot?"

" _I said stop!_ There is no rebel group. Just stop talking!" Malfoy was almost screaming now.

Hermione raised her voice too speaking over him, "Then what is it Malfoy?! Revenge? For your Father-?"

Malfoy had begun pacing the floor in front of her. Growing frantic with each step and every question Hermione threw at him in rapid succession.

"No-! I don't—"

"Then WHAT? Why have you brought me here? Where are we? What do you want-?"

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut—" seethed Malfoy.

"Stop being a coward and tell me—!" Hermione's sentence was cut short as an invisible force shoved her into the wall.

" _I SAID SHUT UP!"_ snarled Malfoy.

She had pushed him too far. Hermione slumped to the floor. Her head hurting from the impact, she was unable to speak.

"No more questions!" Malfoy took a threatening step toward her and Hermione shrank away from him, truly scared for the first time.

He let out another strangled cry and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The door's outline briefly glowed a faint gold before returning to its regular colour.

o-o-o

Hermione's hands were shaking. She did not know how long she sat there, huddled against the wall her mind racing with thoughts of the worst kind. It was seventh year all over again—the fear of being found by Death Eaters while hunting for horcruxes, the anticipation of the unknown, the pain of the torture she had endured by Bellatrix, and the slow oily draining of hope as time passed without progress towards their end goal.

These emotions had never really left, realized Hermione, because she had never given herself the opportunity to face them. She had only managed to bury them underneath her busy life and her visions of a greater, better wizarding world. And here she was again, in another life and death situation, believing like a fool that all was peaceful after the war.

Hot tears stung her eyes and threatened to spill. Would she see Ron again? Harry and Ginny? They would be worried, she knew, and the other Weasleys too, once they heard of her disappearance. They were her family and her friends, and there was a strong possibility that she would never see them again.

Her tears flowed freely now as despair clouded her thinking.

"No," muttered Hermione. "No. No. No!"

She would not let Malfoy keep her here. She has faced worse than this. Much, much worse. This was nothing. She just had to think. _Be rational Hermione_. After all, it's only Malfoy. He was never much of a threat at Hogwarts. He only had the courage to challenge Harry in the presence of Crabbe and Goyle. His actions never had a bite. It was his mouth that caused him trouble, and Hermione had nearly smashed his teeth in for it in third year. She smirked at the memory. _That felt good_. Even Ron had thought it brilliant.

 _Yes,_ she thought, _Malfoy was the same boy from Hogwarts. Rude, and spiteful, but more importantly, a coward._

Hermione could handle that. Slowly, she uncurled her stiff body from the floor and stood up. She needed a plan but first she had to know where she was. She also needed a weapon because Malfoy had her wand.

Hermione looked around the room for the first time since she had arrived. It was dark and she could barely see the contents of the room. There was an outline of a bed in the left corner next to the door that Malfoy had left through. There was another door opposite to the bed across the room from her. She rushed to it.

It was a bathroom, with a large tub against the far wall propped up on four short legs, like something from an era forgotten. There was a vanity, a mirror and a sink too, with regally molded handles, brass plated taps and black and green trimmings. The flooring was marble. The only light in the room came from small glass jars that contained blue flames like the ones Hermione had conjured in her first year at Hogwarts.

 _Odd. Why would Malfoy bring a hostage to a place that looked fit for a royal family?_

Taking one of the glass jars with the flames in it, she decide to take a closer look at the dim bedroom behind her. She walked along the circumference of the room, close to the walls, holding the jar of flames to eye level. The walls were cold dark stone that looked almost black but were in fact a deep green. The ceiling was high and covered with a pearly marble that contrasted with the dark walls. A chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling's peak with empty glass containers that should have contained magical flames like the ones in her hand. She passed the bed, another regally ornate piece of furniture fitting the décor of the room.

Beside the bed was a large window. The curtains were drawn shut. Hermione placed the jar of flames on the floor and proceeded to open the heavy curtains. Moonlight flooded the room and Hermione had to shield her eyes for a moment. What she saw beyond was breath taking. There were fields of green grass as far as the eye could see. Just below her window was a small garden with manicured hedges and stone benches.

It did not look like a steep drop. _Could she jump?_ Desperate for a possibility of escape, Hermione pushed against the glass of the window. It would not move. She searched the edges of the window for a handle or anything that could open it. She found nothing. It was as if the window was seamlessly molded into the wall. _Magic._

She pounded on the glass in frustration.

"Come on! Please! _Help!" Bang. Bang. Bang. "_ Is anyone there? Please help!" Hermione cried, trying to crack the glass with her fists. The glass remained solid as rock.

In her final attempt, Hermione searched the room for any object heavy enough to smash the glass. There was a wooden desk and chair. She grabbed the chair with two hands and tried her best to drag it to the window. But just like the rest of the room, the chair was ancient and heavy. She could barely lift it.

Breathing heavily, Hermione willed herself to calm down once more. _Okay, there is only one way out._ The way Malfoy had left. If the window was unwilling to open, then the door never would, she was sure of that.

Hermione scrunched her fists in the back of her hair and instantly her anger was replaced with shock. The hair at the back of her head felt wet and sticky. Her fingers came away red with blood. Hermione felt faint. She never had been able to stand the smell or sight of blood since the day she had been tortured in Malfoy Manor.

 _Malfoy Manor!_

Hermione stumbled to the bed, feeling the need to lie down.

 _Could she be in Malfoy Manor?_ That was Hermione's last thought before the darkness pulled at her consciousness and she fainted.

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 **A/N:**

 **Review! Review! Review! Please?**

I originally planned to release this chapter next week, but I am really feeling encouraged by your views and reviews, alerts and follows!

Please continue to review and share your thoughts. If I get 10 reviews by the end of the week, I will post the next chapter!

Cheers,

KK


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

Thanks to everyone who have Favorited the story and set alerts. Your alerts and favs motivate me to keep writing.

But, I am _dying_ for your thoughts so please **Read and Review**! Tell your friends about it. PM me with feedback if you want, but I want to hear from you!

For now, let's hop back in, and find out how Draco feels about his little stunt.

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

Chapter 3

Draco paced the hallway outside his room.

 _What have I done?_

He had kidnapped Granger and brought her to his home. That was not the plan. He only meant to follow her and scare her with a few threats, but she was going to Disapparate and he would lose her trail again. So, on instinct, Draco had grabbed her before she could disappear, and brought her to the only place he felt safe. His home.

If anyone found out about this—if Potter and Weasley found out, the limited freedom Draco had left, would be snatched too. It was difficult to live in the post-war world facing regular discrimination, scrutiny, and negativity for being a former Death Eater. By kidnapping Hermione Granger, he had single handed-ly solidified his fate, and people's suspicions of him being an evil, prejudiced and staunch follower of the Dark Lord.

If the Aurors found out what would they do to him? Draco shuddered at the thought of being administered the Dementor's Kiss. What of his mother? She was already charged with one account of co-conspiracy. Another round of the Ministry dungeons would surely land her in Azkaban where, Draco knew, her frail body and mind would wither rapidly.

Panic rose like bile in his throat.

 _No_. He didn't want this. He wanted Granger to realize the pain that former Death Eaters were being subjected to in her new "perfect" world. He wanted her to know that not everyone was equal, happy and successful in her world. He didn't mean to kidnap her.

What was he going to do? If he set Granger free, she would definitely report him. If he kept her here, there would be a witchhunt soon for the missing war heroine. Either option would ensure the Auror Department's visit to his home and his end in Azkaban.

Draco's pacing grew frantic. His hands shook violently, both wands clattering to the floor. His fingers were cold and numb from fear of what was to come.

Should he kill her? Transfigure her body and then bury it somewhere? Draco stopped his pacing, disgusted with himself. He couldn't even kill Dumbledore. Granger was no exception. Even during the war, Draco could never stomach a kill. There were still nights when he dreamed of Bertha Jokins' twisted, floating body in the dining room, and the unemotional way Voldemort looked when he willed her dead with a flick of his wand. He thought of the first years at Hogwarts on whom Draco had been forced to practice the cruciatus curse as ordered by the Carrows, their tiny faces stretched in pain. Some of them had fainted from the torture and others had soiled themselves.

Draco's legs grew weak from his memories. He slowly sank to the ground in the middle of the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. He never imagined that the world was going to be so cruel under Voldemort's rule. He had been a naïve, egotistic, and foolish teenager, and by the time he was given his task in sixth year it was already too late to turn back.

A fit of sudden rage took over him and Draco punched the wall repeatedly, screaming in frustration. He was paying for his mistakes now. Zabini had given him a chance to fix it and now that was ruined too. This was his punishment for being too weak to do anything properly—join the Dark side fully or make the blind leap of faith to the Light side.

Letting one last cry of frustration, Draco punched the wall so hard he felt a knuckle crack. Excruciating pain shot up his arm and he groaned. There was blood running down his wounded knuckles, over his fingers unto the floor, staining the marble red.

For all the purity in his blood, it could not even keep the floor clean, he thought. He stared at the red stain and, despite the pain in his fist, he laughed. There was no joy in it, only cruel irony. The very blood that he was raised to believe was pure and untainted, had caused him so much loss. On the other hand, the witch in his room had gained everything—inherent intelligence, expert magical skills, fame, power and love—despite being a mudblood.

Draco hated her for her intelligence at Hogwarts. It did not make sense to him, and he had dealt with his jealously the best way he knew how: he bullied her. Back then, he still had the power to crush her with his words. Now, Hermione Granger held the power to render the Malfoy family non-existent with a few choice words to the Minister of Magic.

It was madness but perhaps if he pleaded with her and explained himself, then she would listen? She had helped his family before, why would she not do so again? Draco's stomach clenched again, threatening to spill acidic bile. Pleading with Zabini for a job was the first time he had given up his pride as a pureblood. The shame he felt then, was nothing compared to what he felt now. He was going to plead with a mudblood, _the mudblood_ , to spare him. How twisted this world had become.

With short gasping breaths, he moved to pick up his wand. Awkwardly pointing it at his injured hand, he muttered " _Episkey!"_ and felt the knuckle snap back into place. His hand was not healed but the bone was set. He needed bandages, and some calming drought. Maybe some food for her. He wasn't hungry. Most days Draco did not have an appetite and only ate when his mother threatened to stop eating as well.

Holding his injured hand gingerly to his chest, Draco made his way to the kitchens. He passed the empty, deteriorating walls of his home. What was once a grand, vibrant manor house with luxurious furniture was now dark, unkempt, and uncared for since the house elves were taken to Hogwarts. There were discoloured squares on the walls where portraits and tapestries once hung. Cobwebs and dust covered all surfaces. For the first since it was built, Malfoy Manor looked as ancient as it was.

The kitchens were one floor above the dungeons. The moonlight from a single window provided Draco with light as he washed the blood from his hands in the sink. He found bandages in the numerous drawers that lined the walls, and a thick balm-like potion that his mother used for wounds. He applied the potion to his hand and then tried his best to tie the bandages.

Then, with the light of his wand, he stepped into the cool pantry at the back of the kitchen. He looked at the raw ingredients—onions, cheese, bread, sugar, some kind of green vegetable and potatoes. Not much to cook. He scanned the pantry again and spotted a large pot with a lid on it.

Draco did not know how to cook. His entire life, house elves had done everything for him—cleaning, cooking, laundry. However, his mother could cook. Narcissa had learned to cook from her mother when she was still a Black but after she married into the Malfoy family, she had had a band of house elves available for every beck and call. Narcissa had stepped into the Malfoy kitchen for the first time, three years ago.

Draco opened the lid and, sure enough, there was cooked food in it. It looked like stew, he decided. His mother often put ingredients together when they were running low and called it stew. Back in the kitchen, Draco prepared a tray with a plate, a bowl, and what cutlery he could find while the stew heated on the fire. He decided to bring the jar of potion he had used for his wounds too. Then he cut some bread, ladled some stew into the bowl, and added that to the tray as well.

Finally, he picked up Hermione's wand from the table and reached to place it in the tray too. _No, not yet_. He hastily dropped her wand in a nearby kitchen drawer before making his way back to his room.

o-o-o

Draco entered his room silently. He had his wand at the ready to counter any surprise attack Granger might have planned in his absence. Instead, he found her asleep on his bed. What a strange sight that was. Not a single woman had graced his chambers since Voldemort's fall, nor had he wanted a woman since then.

He looked around the room. The curtains were open, filling the room with pearly moonlight. The stars were reflected in the puddle on the floor that his soaking clothes had left when Granger and him first landed in Malfoy Manor. Granger's basket of groceries lay on its side in the middle of the room. The produce had disappeared into the dark shadows under the bed. She had not bothered to clean up after herself it seemed.

A jar of flames sat near the window and his chair had been dragged halfway across the room. The bathroom door was open, allowing the faint blue light of the flames to spill into the chamber. She had explored his room before falling asleep. No, she had tried to escape, he realized.

Draco placed the tray of food on the table and scourgified the pool of water. He contemplated vanishing Granger's groceries too, but thinking of the meager produce in his pantry, Draco decided to collect the food instead. Bruised food was still food, and food cost money that Draco had little of.

Finally, Draco levitated the table close to the bed and positioned his chair to block any exits. The only way Granger could get off the bed was if she leaped over the footboard, or him.

He took a deep breath, and settled into the chair to wait.

o-o-o

The deafening silence woke her up. Hermione sluggishly opened her eyes, her dried tears crusted her lids and pulled at her lashes. Her head felt like a giant was stomping on her brain. She groaned in pain.

"Finally awake, Granger?"

Hermione's head snapped up at the voice and she bolted upright in bed. She immediately regretted her actions as a strong wave of nausea over took her and she retched—right on Malfoy. The pain in her head subsided as she continued to heave the acidic contents of her stomach in his lap. Once she felt better, she sat back and warily observed the wizard before her, the memories from last night slowly coming to mind.

Malfoy looked sick.

His hair was brittle, his cheekbones were too defined and his skin had a greyish tinge to it in the light of dawn. Her vomit was smeared across his torso and thighs, adding color to his black robes. It did not help his sickly appearance. Malfoy was too shocked to utter a sound, his expression one of utter disbelief. He looked down at his soiled clothes, still bewildered.

Hermione could not help but smirk. "Suits you," she quipped.

Malfoy's eyes snapped to her face. Livid. Threatening. _Blue,_ Hermione registered.

Malfoy's entire head was rapidly turning an ugly shade of red. He gripped his wand so tight it could have snapped in two.

" _You…"_ he managed a strangled cry.

Hermione simply sat, watching him fluster. Besides, she was too exhausted to move and her head still hurt from her impact with the wall last night. He was the reason she was here. He was the reason for her injury. So, he deserved to be covered in her sick, even if it was unintentional on Hermione's part.

" _You…"_ Malfoy croaked, his lips twisting into the familiar sneer she remembered from Hogwarts, "… _filthy Mudblood_."

All amusement drained from Hermione's mind. Her body went rigid. She had not heard that slur in three years. Before she realized what was happening, her hand flew across the space between them and connected with Malfoy's cheek in a loud, echoing slap.

o-o-o

Draco's head snapped to the side so fast that his neck felt stuck in that position. In a matter of two minutes, Granger had managed to take him by surprise, _twice_ , and not very pleasantly at all.

 _How dare she?_ Fueled by his anger, Draco grabbed her wrist and yanked her roughly off the bed. She swayed dangerously, still dizzy from sleep maybe. Draco didn't care. He was going to make her pay for this. To hell with his salvation.

 _Talking?_ No that would not happen until she learned how to behave.

Granger squirmed in his grasp, pulling with all her might at his hand that held her wrist. "Let go of me!" she struggled as he pulled her towards the bathroom.

"Let go!"

She drew back her free hand to slap him again but this time Draco was ready for it. He caught her other wrist and yanked her forward until her body collided with his. They stood chest to chest, the scent of stale air and vomit between them.

" _Enough._ " he hissed. "You're going to clean up this mess and if you hit me again, I won't be so lenient."

Granger scoffed. Her deep brown eyes met his gaze with determination and contradiction.

"I'm not going to do _anything_ for you Malfoy," she said.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. _The little witch actually thinks she can challenge me_?

"You don't get it, do you?" Draco answered, "You're my hostage and you _will_ do as I say. Or you can forget about seeing Potter and Weasley again."

"I won't do a thing until you tell me why you brought me here," she replied. Her body was shaking in anger. She hated being this close to him. She hated everything about him. He had _no right!_ No right, _at all,_ to touch her.

"You're the brightest witch of our age," he said, " _Figure it out_."

Draco twisted her around so her hands were behind her back, never once easing his vice grip on her wrists. She grunted in pain. _Good,_ thought Draco.

He shoved her forward towards the bathroom. They stepped into the eerie blue chamber and Draco closed the door behind him, sealing it with a non-verbal spell, before letting her go. She immediately pushed herself away from him, disgust etched on her face.

"How dare you touch me!" she said backing towards the tub. Her bushy hair frizzed around her face making her look alive with static. She held her arms protectively around her middle.

"How dare you slap me?!" he countered.

"You deserved it!"

Draco thought he could not have been angrier.

"Deserved it?" he said after a pause, his voice dangerously low, "Deserved it, did I?"

 _Fine._ Then he would show her what _she_ deserved. Granger had tormented him his entire life. She always had better grades, better skills, better friends. Till this date, she held a better job and a better position in society. Draco knew his failures were his own fault but he didn't need Granger to reiterate that. He didn't need to hear it from her.

He couldn't believe that a few hours ago he was planning to beg her to save him. There was a reason why Hermione Granger was the symbol of the Light side. She blindly lived and breathed the values of goodness and equality. Everything was good and equal for her lot because the Order was in power. Witches and wizards who agreed with the Order's ideologies benefitted immensely and so did the few fortunate magical creatures that Potter had a soft spot for. But any witch or wizard that thought otherwise did not matter because their voices did not exist to the Order. They could not see beyond their bubble, and Granger was the queen of it all, mistakenly believing that she fought for everyone's equality.

"You haven't changed Malfoy," Granger replied, "You're the same prejudiced and hateful boy from Hogwarts! Even after the Wizengamot gave you a second chance at your life, it is clear that you did nothing with it."

"Gave me a second chance?" he scoffed.

Draco barked a laugh, his anger slowly ebbing into disappointment. Granger stared back at him with contempt, her jaw determinedly clenched and her fingers digging into the skin of her arms.

"Yes! If wasn't for Harry you would be locked up in Azkaban right now. Your pureblood ideals have no place in the new world," she said.

The more he looked at her the more he realized that no matter what he had planned to tell Granger, her image of him would not change. So what was the point in trying? He was surely going to Azkaban for kidnapping her even if he had managed to convince her to help him. If was going to Azkaban, why not actually _deserve_ to go there?

She thought so lowly of him, then tonight he would meet her expectations. Schooling his features into the cool mask of a predator, Draco leaned back against the sink, his arms gripping the sides of the counter. Slowly he dragged his gaze over her body, from her skinny legs that were barely visible under her long skirt, up to her non-existent waistline, past her chest and neck, to her face.

"You're right Granger," he smirked his most sleazy smirk, "but you're forgetting one thing. This is my house. You're in my world now. My world, my rules, _my ideals_."

It was satisfying to see her reaction. Her breathing hitched, her pupils dilated. She was scared now. He could see it in her eyes, the uncertainty and the anticipation of his next words.

" _Strip._ "

* * *

 **A/N:**

OHHHHHH shiiittttt. Cliffy-alert. What's Malfoy upto?

I know, but if you want to know too then **Review! Review! Review!** **Set those alerts and follows! Tell your friends to check out this story** and I promise to update soon ;)

Cheers,

KK


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning!**

Themes hinting at rape (but not the actual thing). If this makes you uncomfortable, I apologize to readers in advance. Please skip to the next section of the story. Look for the o-o-o and you will hit the next section.

 **A/N:** Thank you so much to the readers who have reviewed, set alerts and favorited the story. I'm very glad that you are enjoying it!

Also, little announcement: **Love like Oxygen has hit 10 reviews, 8 Favs and 22 alerts!** Yayyy! It's a small milestone but it is more than I was expecting to get for this story. So thank you again, and keep reviewing, favorite-ing and alerting!

 **Guest reviewers "Micro", the two "Guests", "Mangoes", "acciorachell" and "Ditte3":** Thank you so much for your praise! I know you guys are excited for the next chapter, so enjoy!

 **riaroo400:** advice has been heeded, my friend **.**

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* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

Chapter 4

Hermione's mind blanked.

"What-?" she asked dumbly.

" _Strip,_ " repeated Malfoy.

All the blood rushed to her face at once. Her mouth gaped in horror. Hermione felt weaker than before. Was he going to-? No, he wouldn't. Malfoy was a cruel bully, but he wasn't evil. Hermione was not sure anymore.

Malfoy watched her silently, a smug smirk on his lips, his demeanor too casual to be natural. Slowly, torturously, he began to unbutton his robes. Transfixed, Hermione could not look away. He dropped his soiled robes to the floor revealing a simple white shirt underneath. Malfoy hooked his arms under fabric and hoisted it over his head before dropping that to the floor too.

Hermione snapped her eyes closed before his shirt hit the ground.

"What's the matter Granger?" Malfoy mocked, "Never seen a naked man before?"

Hermione wanted to scream but she couldn't move her tongue. Her wildly beating heart was lodged in her throat. A hundred possibilities ran through her mind about why Malfoy had told her to strip, but she could only reach one conclusion. She felt sick as the realization hit her, her legs went numb and gave away under the weight of the devastation she felt. She didn't dare open her eyes.

Hermione heard his footsteps approach her and then the tell-tale click of him unbuckling his belt and shrugging out of his pants. Her muscles tensed up and she squeezed her eyes so tight that they hurt.

 _Please, no, please!_

Malfoy leaned over Hermione's crouched form and twisted the tap to let water flow in to the bathtub. She could feel his body heat. Her hands trembled as she waited for the inevitable. Instead, she felt a pile of clothes drop into her lap and heard Malfoy's footsteps recede back to the door.

"Clean my clothes and yourself while you're at it," he said and then the door clicked shut.

Hermione opened her eyes. He was gone. Taking deep breaths, she looked down at his clothes, her muscles relaxing with the sound of running water.

 _That twisted son of Merlin._ He was toying with her, and she had let herself be fooled. He had always enjoyed tormenting her since their days at Hogwarts. She still remembered fourth year when he had hit her with a jinx that enlarged her teeth. That kind of bullying was Malfoy's immaturity but the stunt he just pulled was complete harassment. Then again, they were not fourth years anymore but adults who had survived a war. So why wouldn't Malfoy's bullying get bolder? He was a Death Eater after all and his parents had hosted Voldemort at Malfoy Manor too.

The manor has been a frequent haunt for the staunchest and most vile followers of Voldemort like Bellatrix, the Carrows and Greyback. Under their influence, Malfoy must have observed more crueler forms of assault than the jelly-leg jinxes he used at Hogwarts. He probably participated as well, thought Hermione, judging by the current circumstances. She felt cold and numb, like someone had thrown her into the Black lake in the middle of winter. He had walked away playing his sick joke, but there was no guarantee it would be a joke in the future.

 _My house. My rules. My ideals._

The bathtub threatened to overflow from the rapid torrent of water continuing to gush from the brass tap. Absentmindedly, Hermione stood on shaky legs to turn off the tap, watching as the river of water reduced to a gentle flow and then a trickle, transforming the whirlpool of water into gently lapping waves that settled to a surface so still that she could see her reflection in it.

Something clicked in Hermione's brain. She had an idea. Excitement coursed through her body like the first time she held her wand at Ollivander's. Her mind churning, she eased out of her soiled clothes and slipped into the inviting bath. It was the perfect place for her to think and plan.

o-o-o

Draco leaned against the bathroom door, the sound of running water thundering in his ears. Or maybe that was his heart? He was unsure, and confused by his own behaviour. Just minutes ago, he was so angry that the sole thing he wanted to do was humiliate Granger, but her terrified reaction had turned his anger to shame.

Draco expected Granger to fight back, scream, maybe even punch him and try to run. Instead she just stood there, petrified by fear as if accepting whatever he was going to do. The problem was, even Draco didn't know what he was going to do. He had acted upon his natural whim to gain revenge on those that wronged him, but when she paled at his words and defeated-ly sank to the floor, Draco snapped back to reality.

 _What is wrong with me?_

Draco had been horrified when Greyback and his band of snatchers brought muggles to the Manor to torture for Bellatrix's amusement. Bellatrix used to force him to watch as Greyback stripped the muggles naked and she carved words into their skin, till their blood ran in rivulets down their bodies. Sometimes Greyback took the young girls to a back room and their shrieks still haunted Draco.

"Watch Draco!" Bellatrix used to say, "And learn! Kill that soft heart of yours, and the Dark Lord will reward you!"

But he couldn't watch—he _wouldn't_ watch. He used to screw his eyes shut and Bellatrix used to scream at him. Eventually, her cries of " _Coward!"_ and " _Weakling!"_ amalgamated with the wails of the tortured and Draco learned to drown it all out. Until one day, the snatchers brought back Granger and her idiot friends.

Perhaps because he knew her, Draco could not drown out Granger's screams. Even then, she had struggled and tried to escape Bellatrix's clutches until pain prevented her from fighting any further. Today, Draco was hoping for some resistance from Hermione too, a justification for his actions in the bathroom. Now, he was no better than Bellatrix. Just another monster, allowing hate and anger to provoke him.

The sound of water stopped and Draco was pulled out of his reverie. Granger must be done with her bath. He didn't want to face her right now. What could he say if she did see him? He had done something horrid, so unlike himself, and he was ashamed, but she didn't know that.

Draco quickly walked to the wall besides him and tapped a practiced pattern on the stones with his wand. The wall shimmered and disappeared to reveal a short passageway leading to a small room. Draco stepped into his sanctuary and the wall rematerialized behind him.

o-o-o

When Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, the sun had risen fully in the sky, filling the room with bright light. She tightened the tie on her bathrobe and searched the room for Malfoy. He wasn't there. Hermione sighed in relief. She had made her escape plan but it required her to do something she wasn't sure she could just yet. It was fortunate that Malfoy wasn't here to test her.

Perhaps she should sleep and regain her strength before she had to confront him again? That is when Hermione spotted the tray of food on the table beside the bed. _What the-?_ There was a jar filled with a thick potion too. She opened the jar first, sniffing it. It smelled like eucalyptus, tingly but calming. A homemade balm for aches and wounds. Hermione had washed the dried blood from her hair as she bathed earlier but the back of her skull still felt tender to the touch. Additionally, the persistent dull ache between her eyes had not let up. Scooping a small amount with a finger, Hermione rubbed the potion in to her wounded scalp gently before moving on to examine the food.

Suspicious but curious, Hermione sifted the bowl of— _stew?_ —with a spoon. It was cold, brown and clumpy with an odd combination of chopped vegetables and some kind of meat. Hermione's stomach grumbled. She hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon but the stew didn't look appealing at all. Instead, she picked up a slice of bread and nibbled on the crust. _Stale._

Had Malfoy brought this food for her? Hermione stopped nibbling, a horrid thought dawning on her. If Malfoy had brought this food then was it poisoned? She quickly dropped the bread into the plate, ignoring her rumbling stomach. Sleep it was then.

Hermione curled beneath the sheets, the aroma of eucalyptus lulling her to sleep.

o-o-o

When Hermione woke up again, it was dark outside. The moonlight illuminated the empty room but Malfoy was not lurking in the shadows this time. A savory smell was in the air and Hermione rose to discover a fresh bowl of soup and bread. The cold lumpy stew from last night was gone. A sharp stab of pain in her stomach told her she was hungry but Hermione ignored it.

She'd be _damned_ if she ate his food.

Still the aroma of broth spiced with herbs filled her senses and her mouth started watering. Another stab of hunger pain elicited a groan from her. Angry at her weakening resolve, Hermione rushed to the bathroom and ran the sink tap. Bending low, she drank the water till she felt full.

Then Hermione waited. She sat crossed legged on the bed, taping a finger on the metal bed frame, waiting for Malfoy to show himself.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap-tock. Tap-tick. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock…_

The sun began to rise but Malfoy never came. The scent of the soup had dissipated and there was a thin sheen of grease on top. Hermione slowly eased into bed again and woke up when the moon was high in the sky once more.

It had been three days now since she had last seen another human being and strangely, she couldn't wait to see Malfoy again if only as a reminder that someone else existed in this world other than her.

Her stomach ached painfully, and her head even worse. Weakly, she rose from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Each step she took sent jolts into her brain, making her dizzy. She made it to the sink but another painful contraction in her gut crippled her.

o-o-o

Draco found her unconscious on the bathroom floor. The sound of running water alerted him that something was amiss. For the past two days, Draco woke up before dawn and brought Hermione food before he retreated to his sanctuary for the day. She was always asleep when he came by. He preferred it that way because it gave him time to mull over what he was supposed to do with her.

This morning, however, Granger was not in bed. She hadn't touched the last meal he had brought either, he noted, as he replaced the old tray with a new one of fresh food. He decided to wait until she turned of the tap, indicating that she would emerge from the bathroom, before sneaking off into his sanctuary.

Time passed and she never come out, but the water still ran. When Draco decided to investigate, he found Granger sprawled on the marble floor. _Did I kill her?_ Panic seized him and he frantically lifted her into his arms to lay her on his bed, shaking her shoulders to revive her.

"Granger! Wake up!"

Her bathrobe was askew, revealing more skin than Draco desired to see, and she was feverish to the touch.

"Shit. I will not have your blood on my hands!" he warned her unconscious form. She did not respond. Finally, Draco used the spell _Enervate_ and Granger woke up gasping for air.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Draco demanded. Granger looked at him through dazed and feverish eyes. With all the effort she could manage she pushed herself into a sitting position and leaned on to the wall for support, facing him.

"You came back," she said, her breaths coming slow and rasped from exhaustion.

She was waiting for him? Why? After what he did two days ago, Draco thought she would never want to see his face.

"Are you trying to kill yourself? Why aren't you eating the food?" Draco snapped.

Hermione looked at the fresh bowl of porridge he had brought today and her eyes cleared. Her nostrils expanded, taking in the wafting scent, her pupils dilated from want. She quickly looked away.

"I'm not hungry," she answered.

Draco huffed in disbelief. "And I wasn't a Death Eater," he said sarcastically.

Hermione determinedly looked at her lap, refusing to give in.

" _Eat."_ Draco commanded pushing the tray closer to her.

"No."

"Eat, damn it!"

"Not until you tell me why you brought me here."

Draco took a deep breath to calm himself.

"First, you eat. Then-" started Draco calmly.

" _No, Malfoy!_ First you tell me-!"

Draco lunged forward and grabbed Hermione's chin, pinching her cheeks between his long fingers. Hermione yanked her head back and tugged at his arm, but his grip only tightened more.

"You _will_ eat, Granger. You're _not_ dying here, and I am _not_ going to Azkaban. Got it?" he said letting her go and thrusting the bowl of porridge into her lap.

Hermione fumed silently as she ate her porridge, purposely taking small mouthfuls. Malfoy settled into the wooden chair once again, crossing his arms and staring out the window. This time, she took the time to study him closely. Since he had brought her to the manor, Hermione had only short moments to scrutinize the wizard before her.

The sun was rising quickly now, illuminating his hair, making it shine like white gold, but his face was sallow and his skin stretched over his cheekbones painfully. The dark bags under his eyes could rival the ones he had in sixth year. He was dressed in a pale grey jacket, with a high collar and pants of the same colour. Embossed on the left breast of the jacket pocket was the Ministry logo encircled by a department's name " _Muggle Artifacts Office_ ".

"You work for the Ministry?" Hermione asked, surprised. Malfoy's body visibly tensed but he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Yes."

"I've never seen you there," she commented.

"You don't see much, Granger."

 _What's that supposed to mean?_ Hermione frowned, falling silent.

"So that's how you tracked me," she said. Her tone was not accusatory, only factual. Malfoy ignored her.

"Why the Muggle Artifacts Office?" she pressed.

"You think I had a choice?" he scoffed.

"Everyone has a choice."

"No. _Your_ lot have a choice. Are you done yet?" Malfoy rose to clear the tray. He glared at her impatiently, clearly annoyed by her questioning. Hermione placed the empty bowl in the tray, preparing her mind for what she really wanted to say to him. Now would be a good time to start executing her plan, since he was speaking to her somewhat civilly. Malfoy turned around to leave but Hermione quickly pulled the back of his jacket. He peered at her over his shoulder, a sneer forming on his lips.

"What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to say," Hermione began meekly, "I wanted to say...I'm sorry for slapping you. _Again_."

Malfoy's eyes widened like saucers and then just as quickly his demeanor turned foul. His expression stony and his cheeks a blotchy red, Malfoy reached around him and yanked Hermione's hand off his jacket, before storming out of the room.

That was not the reaction Hermione was anticipating.

* * *

 **A/N:** Read and Review!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks a lot to "Micro", "Ditte3", "riaroo400" and "SusuJahe" for reviewing the last chapter. All reviews, feedback, alerts and likes motivate me. I once again, encourage everyone to let me know their thoughts and to share the story with people who you think will like it!

Cheers,

KK

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

Chapter 5

" _I'm sorry for slapping you._ "

Hermione's voice played in Draco's mind all morning. When he closed his eyes and flushed himself down the toilet to enter the Ministry, he saw her timid form on his bed, clutching the back of his jacket. As he walked with the tide of morning workers towards the elevators, he could only see Granger's expression in their faces. His brain was stuck in a fog and the fog was Hermione Granger.

What the fuck was she apologizing for? He should be the one to apologize for his behaviour. Not her. Always playing the saint. Granger's strange apology was tormenting Draco greatly. He kept replaying the scene in his mind, trying to decipher a hidden meaning in her words, a hint of manipulation in her expression, but he couldn't remember any. Her apology was sincere, and that made Draco feel like scum. Even Zabini noticed that Draco seemed more reticent than usual.

"Malfoy. Malfoy!" Zabini knocked on his desk but Draco was unresponsive.

Zabini slapped the Daily Prophet on to Draco's desk and clapped a hand on his back, making Draco jump. The sound came rushing back into his ears like he had been pulled to the surface while drowning. Bells were ringing, people's feet shuffling, and paperplane memos and owls were zooming past his ear. Zabini was saying something.

"What?" asked Draco, still dazed. He blinked a few times to erase Granger's face from his lids. He was at work now, he should focus on that.

"I said," Zabini muttered impatiently, "Have you seen the _Prophet_? Golden Girl's gone missing."

" _What?_ "

"Mate, you alright?" Zabini didn't wait for a response. He jabbed a finger at the paper instead. "Look."

Draco followed Zabini's arm to his finger that was aggressively denting a photograph of Granger on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. There were two photographs. One of Granger, passionately in mid-speech at the last Post-War conference, and another picture showing a distraught Ron Weasley being comforted by his sister while Harry Potter spoke with Ministry authorities outside of Granger's home. The headline read: BELOVED WAR HEROINE FEARED MISSING.

 _This morning, Aurors have searched and seized Hermione Granger's home, in hopes of finding a clue to her alleged disappearance. Granger, a war heroine and the Head of the Magical Reconciliation Department at the Ministry of Magic, was last seen purchasing groceries on a muggle street on Friday. The night of her disappearance, Granger was scheduled to meet friends, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley, for dinner at her home in Muggle London, but when the trio arrived, she was nowhere to be found._

 _After two days of no contact, and no sign of her at her usual haunts, Potter and the Weasleys alerted authorities. The head of Magical Defense and Law Enforcement refuses to confirm if Granger was abducted and denies any involvement of Dark Magic. However, they are not ruling out the possibilities as yet. Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, urges the wizarding public to come forward with information if they have it. Continued on Page 4._

Draco sat frozen. He could not stop looking at Granger's determined face as she stood on the Post-War Conference podium. The photograph was older than a year, but Draco remembered the conference clearly. He and all of the wizarding community in Britain had attended it, to hear the vision of the new world. Granger's speech had held so much promise and Draco had been enthralled.

The next day, Aurors came to seize his family's possessions and his illusions were shattered instantly.

"Mate? Draco?" Zabini tapped him on the shoulder again. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Draco lied. The current missing witch was at his home, he was her abductor, and the authorities had begun an investigation that will surely lead to him. He was not fine at all.

Draco debated confiding the truth to Zabini but as his supervisor, Zabini would be obliged to report him. Besides, Zabini and he were never friends in the true sense. They had known each other their entire lives, navigated the suffocating elite society their parents had birthed them into, but it was mainly convenience that kept them together. In addition, Draco was a known former Death Eater, but Zabini's family never had ties with the Dark Lord. So, why would Zabini keep Draco's secret?

Draco forced himself to be nonchalant.

"Interesting bit of news," he said. "She probably ran away. Maybe the pressure to always be a good girl finally made her barmy."

Zabini chuckled. "Or Weasley did."

"Weasley?"

"Rumour has it, he was going to propose to her the night she disappeared."

 _Propose?_ Draco's insides churned. He had stolen much more than her freedom from Granger. He had stolen her chance at a new life, safe with Weasley and Potter.

"Pity," Draco smirked and dumped the _Prophet_ in the bin near his desk. He couldn't bare to see her face right now. He needed a distraction.

"What cases do we have today? I don't mind taking the field," Draco suggested.

"You hate field work," Zabini commented.

"I hate incessant chatter more. With the current news, it will be worse than usual."

"Very true. Come grab the files from my desk. I'm warning you though, it won't be fun."

o-o-o

Hermione paced the length of the room, still clad in a bathrobe. After Malfoy had left, she had laid in bed until her back started to cramp. So he worked at the Ministry and, ironically, in the Muggle Artifacts Department? That was a surprise. Hermione always thought his family was wealthy enough to support generations of Malfoys, without them ever having to work.

Could this be Malfoy's way of compensating for his behaviour and crimes during the war? By secretly helping muggles? _No,_ if his views about muggles had changed, she wouldn't be here right now, subjected to his cruelty. He is either being forced to work there by the Ministry or he is using his position at the Ministry to harm more muggles. But something about his swallow looks and bony body was egging Hermione to a different conclusion. _It can't be._ Hermione shook her head and pulled herself out of bed. _That's not possible._

The golden orb of the sun had disappeared but there was still light outside. Mid-day? Afternoon? Time was a luxury in this cell. So was food. Her stomach grumbled. Malfoy had obviously gone to work this morning. Which meant he wouldn't be back for a few more hours and Hermione had to wait for her next meal, assuming he came to visit tonight. The initial shock of being kidnapped had begun to wear off, and she was falling into a new normal. Her body and mind had exhausted itself when she starved for two days in defiance of her captor. Now, she had a plan, so her brain was functioning regularly. Unfortunately, this meant coming to terms with her new surroundings, and her dependency on Malfoy for her basic needs.

Of course, she hated it.

To regulate her blood flow, Hermione started pacing the length of the room, pausing at times to stretch and massage her cramped legs and arms. On her tenth round, a figure outside the window caught her eye. If it wasn't for the person's shadow darkening the stone patio, Hermione would not have realized a woman was standing just under the awning. Curious, she pressed her face to the glass, attempting to view the woman beneath her.

Her platinum blonde hair reflected the sun's rays and Narcissa Malfoy stepped in her perfectly manicured garden. Hermione audibly gasped. Narcissa could have been a ghost if it wasn't for her laboured steps that were guided by a walking stick. Her hair was more white than platinum blonde, her back bent and her robes too large for her frame. Gone was the regal and self-confident woman Hermione remembered from her last trip to the manor.

Narcissa settled on a stone bench, facing her garden, her face turned up to the late blue afternoon sky. She watched as birds flew above and small creatures scuttled on the lawn before her. A brown hare hopped close to Narcissa, and hesitantly she reached out to pet it, but the creature ran from her reach at the last second. Her hand hovered above the ground for a bit before she retreated it into the folds of her robe. Hermione couldn't see Narcissa's expression but her shoulders hunched a fraction more.

How long Narcissa sat on the bench, Hermione didn't know, but she continued to watch as Narcissa finally picked up her walking stick and pulled the silver handle to reveal a hidden wand. She pointed the wand at the hedges and waved her it intricately. Bits of twig and leaves littered the grass underneath as non-existent sheers trimmed the already perfectly manicured hedges making them shorter. Evidently, this was routine for the Malfoy matriarch.

Hermione felt a pang of pity for Narcissa. What had aged her so? Seeing Narcissa's fragile form reminded Hermione of her own mother. After the war, she had searched for her parents in Australia, but the memory charms she had placed were too powerful to be reversed. Her parents hadn't recognized her at all but at least they were healthy, active and still young. Narcissa was much older than her mother, Hermione knew, but she couldn't help but imagine her mother being as weak as Narcissa one day. It would break her heart if that was her mother in the garden below.

Hot tears stung the back of her eyes and Hermione tried her best to rationalize her emotions for a woman she only knew as a Death Eater's wife.

Narcissa stood up shakily, and leaning heavily on her cane, she walked along the circumference of the garden, lightly brushing her precious hedges with her palm. Unbeknownst to both women, Draco was silently watching his mother from the shadow of the awning, his heart constricting painfully with concern as Narcissa took each step.

With tears waiting to spill, Hermione watched from the window, wanting instead to be on the lawn guiding the older woman on her stroll, when suddenly Narcissa tripped on a patch of grass and sprawled unto her knees.

" _No!"_ cried Hermione and fat, hot tears rolled un-controlling down her cheeks. She nearly missed the flash of white as Malfoy sprung from beneath the awning and dashed to his mother's side. He gently grasped his mother's arm and then hoisted her into his arms, to carry her to the stone bench. Crouching in front of her, Malfoy dusted off the dirt from his mother's robes, uncaring of his own dirtied trousers.

Hermione could not watch anymore. She stepped away from the window, her tears turning to sobs. She felt perverted, like she had witnessed a side of the Malfoy's that they had never shown anyone before. Hermione could not understand why she was crying for them. Her logic told her she was being irrational, that these two people in the garden deserved their pain especially after what happened to her at Malfoy Manor.

However, witnessing Malfoy care for his mother so tenderly and without regard to himself, had awoken emotions that Hermione had long buried as unnecessary hindrance to her work. She missed her parents. She felt homesick for the first time since the summer before the Hunt. She missed her mother's cooking and warm, comforting caresses. She missed her father's terrible dentist jokes and mischief. Hermione thought of all the love she had received as a child from her parents, despite being a witch, and she wept.

o-o-o

It was early morning, the next day, when Draco finally visited Granger. The sun had barely grazed the horizon and the night sky was slowly turning the purple of dawn. Granger was perched at the edge of his bed, dressed in the three day old bathrobe, expecting him. She looked up at him when he entered with those all-knowing brown eyes that had haunted him all day and night, and gave him a small smile. Draco halted abruptly, thinking he must have imagined it.

"Hi," she said, a light smile playing on her lips. Draco continued to stare at her. He noticed her nose was red and her eyes puffy, like she had been crying. Could she have heard the news of her disappearance? Or about Weasley's possible proposal? Draco chided himself for his foolishness. Hermione didn't have contact with anyone but him. Still, it irked him that the reasons for her tears could be Weasley. Draco approached her cautiously, setting down the tray of food he had brought for her on the table, unsure of what to make of her sudden amicable behaviour.

"Thank you," she said and without hesitance picked up a slide of bread, dipped it in last night's leftover stew, and took a large bite. Granger polished the food in minutes, not leaving a morsel behind. Draco didn't know what Narcissa put in the stew but it definitely wasn't as delicious as Granger made it look.

 _She is starving,_ he realized. He ought to bring her food in the evening too.

"I can get you more," he offered, then regretted it. Draco didn't know if there was enough for seconds.

"No. I'm good. Thank you," she replied.

It was twice now that she had thanked him. Why was she thanking him? She wasn't here, in his house, by choice. He had forced this upon her, kept her in isolation, removed her from her close friends and family and she was thanking him?

His anger and confusion must have shown on his face because she said, "Are you mad at me?"

"Have you lost it Granger?" Draco snapped. "That know-it-all brain of yours, finally gone barmy? Why in Merlin are you thanking me? I haven't done anything kind to you, and here you are pretending like you're on holiday with your 'thank yous' and apologies, like I'm some kind of butler at your service."

He could not control the words coming out of his mouth. Thoughts of her apology from yesterday had consumed him and he wanted to know why she had said it. Why she was _thanking_ him for all the wrong reasons.

"What are you so thankful about, Granger?" he continued roughly, approaching her like a predator, his tone rising with every step. "Are you thankful that you're stuck in this room without your beloved Potter and your Ginger boyfriend? Thankful that I brought you back to the place of your nightmares? The same place where you got that scar?"

Draco's face was inches from her's as he grabbed her left arm and pushed up the sleeve of her bathrobe to reveal the crude outline on her skin. Granger didn't flinch. She looked into his eyes, her gaze unwavering, and smiled. Draco dropped her arm like he had been burned. He decided then that her smile was the scariest and most unnerving thing he had seen since his days as a Death Eater.

She was giving him _that_ look-the one that said _I pity you_. He could feel the panic rise in his throat. He hated that look, especially coming from the mudblood before him. He might not have his family's wealth anymore or even his self-confidence but he was not so far gone to receive pity from Hermione Granger. He..He couldn't breathe. Draco's eyes widened.

 _He couldn't breathe._

His breaths came is sudden gasps, sounding high and thin to his ear. Granger's expression changed from confusion to frantic worry. Draco clutched at his throat trying to suck air, but his throat felt constricted, his tongue heavy, choking the passage to his lungs.

"Draco? Draco! Are you alright?" Hermione tried to grasp his wrist, her hands moving quickly along his face, neck and shoulders. Draco collapsed before her, on his knees, his vision going black. His head fell into her lap, his chest heaving in effort to breathe. He couldn't blackout. Not here. Not in front of her. Draco weakly tried to hold the edge of the bed and hoist himself up but he didn't have the strength.

"No, no," she was saying while rubbing a firm hand down his back, "You musn't get up. Relax your muscles. Close your eyes."

So, he did. Her scent filled him instantly. She smelled like cinnamon and cocoa. Sweet but spicy. Simultaneously rejuvenating and comforting. He focused on her hand that was rubbing smooth strokes on his back and the soft hushing sounds coming from her mouth, matching his breaths to her strokes. Slowly, Draco's breathing regulated and her scent grew stronger. It surrounded him and warmth spread in his body where before he had only felt coldness.

Sooner than he liked to admit, Draco's breathing was back to normal. He realized then the compromising position they were in. Him between her knees. Her, only wearing a bathrobe. His hands on either side of the bed, trapping her between his arms. Granger seemed to realize it too because she retrieved her hand from his back and dangled it awkwardly in the air.

Draco knew he should lift his head from her lap and pretend like this encounter never happened. His father would have flayed him for even touching someone like her and yet he was allowing her to relieve him from his panic attack. He should have recoiled from her touch and struggled through the attack alone. Instead, he tossed his logic out of his mind and wrapped his arms around Granger's waist, wanting to hold on to the first comforting contact he had had with a woman in years.

Granger stiffened when he hugged her, but after a few moments he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close. Draco was hyperaware of her body. Her frame was petite but not so small to be thin. Her hips flared enough for his arms to comfortably rest on them. He pressed his face into her stomach, soaking in her cinnamon scent, and sighed. What Draco liked the most was her warmth.

"Malfoy?" Hermione whispered, breaking the long silence they had fallen into. He had to let her go now. His time was up. Reluctantly, Draco pulled back to look at Hermione. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, almost tickling his face, a blush creeped her cheeks and her eyes like shone like molten gold in the newly risen sun's rays. If her eyes were as warm as her, he wanted to lose himself in them.

 _Merlin, what's wrong with me? What am I doing?_ Draco hastily let her go and pushed himself away from her. His heart was beating wildly, and he could feel the heat in his face turning his cheeks red. He stole a glance at her, his head bowed. She looked as embarrassed as he was feeling. The spell was broken.

"I'm sorry," Draco muttered.

"For what?" asked Hermione, tugging the string of her bathrobe tighter around her middle.

"For everything."

She didn't reply. He couldn't read all her expressions but surprise was one of the emotions he recognized. His chest swelled; at least he had done one thing right.

"I can get you another set of robes," he gestured to the bathrobe she was wearing, "You don't have to wear that."

"Robes?" she repeated. Had he never been civil to her, that a simple offer like this surprised her?

"If you want, that is," he said.

"Yes, thank you."

"I told you. Don't thank me. There is nothing you should be thankful for to me."

Granger simply nodded. Seeing no other excuse to remain in her presence, Draco gave her a curt nod and turned to leave.

"Draco, wait!"

 _Draco? Since when did she start calling him by his first name?_ He liked the way it sounded on her lips but he would never admit that to her, amongst many other things.

"Do you have these attacks often?" she asked.

All the warmth he had felt before disappeared. The question settled like ice in his stomach, cold and acidic. Granger really knew how to hit him at his lowest. He never wanted her to see him so weak as today, let alone talk about his deteriorating mental and physical health.

The truth was, yes, he suffered these attacks often. There was no sole trigger but a combination of anxiety, anger, guilt and confrontation. His nerves were already frayed from seeing his mother trip in the garden yesterday, and Granger's smiling face and apologies had made it worse. He had lost control of his anger and the lingering feelings of guilt he felt towards his mother and Granger had bubbled from his belly and choked him. Granger was the first person to witness him lose control. Not even his mother knew what was wrong with him.

"Mind your own business, Granger," he spat and stormed out of the room.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** : Hi everyone, thank you very much for those lovely reviews, views and alerts. I apologize for the late update. My life encountered a minor crisis, and I wasn't in the best head space to do anything, let alone write. But I realized I needed a distraction. Hence my return to this story. I appreciate your patience and support. So without further ado, let's find out how Hermione feels about Draco.

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

 **Chapter 6**

Hermione felt flustered. Her face was hot and her mind scattered like pieces of a puzzle. She ran her hands over the bedsheets as if trying to keep them busy. How many times had she untied and re-tied the knot of her bathrobe keeping in sync with the knots in her stomach?

She had hugged Draco today, purely driven by the need to comfort him as he navigated through his panic attack. She had never even had a decent conversation with him in her life, and yet she had hugged him of her own free will. He had held her tightly too, pressed his face into her torso with a strange familiarity that simultaneously mortified her and made her heart flutter.

There was more to Draco Malfoy than his temper. His concern for his mother, and the vulnerability he had shown today, proved that. _No_ , Hermione had seen his vulnerability before too but she had never acknowledged it. In sixth year, Harry had caught Draco crying in the bathroom, clearly under stress from the impossible task assigned to him. That same year, he had gatecrashed Slughorn's Christmas party, desperate to be included. Even when they had met again at the Manor, Draco was witness to her torture but he had looked on terrified from the shadows of the room rather than participate.

Hermione's gaze fell on the jar of potion beside her bed. He had brought that for her too, and food, even though he was her captor. He promised her new robes today but Hermione doubted he would keep his word since she had confronted him about his panic attack. He didn't like to express himself or his difficulties, that much was easy to deduct. It could be that his pride prevented him from admitting his weakness or that his parents' aristocratic ideals entailed him to keep his feelings hidden. Whatever was the case, Hermione was now privy to two moments of Draco's inner self.

And she was thrilled.

It was like Hermione had gained permission, by accident, to access the most mysterious book in the restricted section of the library, and now she sat with a candle in the darkest row at the back, past midnight, slowly flipping through the pages, drinking the knowledge within. The only difference was that she could close that book, blow out the candle, and leave the restricted section by will.

Hermione looked at the deep emerald green walls of the room, illuminated by the fully risen morning sun. The golden rays hit the dark furniture with a force that lightened their colour and made the intricate embossed designs along the seams of the room jump. The room was beautiful, but even beautiful things turn ugly when you look upon them everyday.

Her heart ached for the familiarity of her home, with its muggle contraptions, sagging sofas and brightly colored upholstery and walls. Crookshanks would curl up beside her at night, his mewing soothing her to sleep. Hermione's kitchen was small but functional. She had improved on her cooking skills since the Hunt, enough to cook a simple meal for her and Ron on the rare weekend they spent together.

 _Ron. Oh god, Ron!_ Hermione was assaulted with a pang of guilt. He must be frantically searching for her, and here she was flustering like a third year over a hug with Malfoy. Ron had always been the boy she loved. He was a good friend and a kind and shy lover. Although they rarely met after the war, they had a strong bond and a deep understanding of each other that was solidified from years of friendship. Despite their polar opposite personalities and interests, she loved him. He is surely looking for her? Harry and Ginny too? The whole Weasley family must be upset by her disappearance. Hermione hoped they did not think that she had run away.

Hermione's resolve hardened. She clutched the bed sheets in her fists with a fierce determination. She would not let Draco's and Narcissa's vulnerability sway her. She had to escape. Hermione didn't belong in Malfoy Manor. The first part of her plan was already in motion: Malfoy had opened up to her, albeit not with his words, like she wanted, but he had sought comfort in her during his attack which was progress nevertheless. She had to keep befriending him and gaining his trust. Only then could she execute the next stage of her plan which was crucial in calculating the exact moment of her escape.

Hermione stood up abruptly from the bed. She made her way to the bathroom. If she had be friendly to Malfoy, she might as well start by looking approachable.

o-o-o

Draco lingered in the street outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He had asked for field work today too, so he could visit Diagon Alley to buy robes for Granger after working hours. He had been rude to her this morning after they had a... _had a what, exactly?_ A moment? A conversation? He didn't want to think about what it was, or understand it either. But Draco was a man of principle. She had helped him in a difficult moment and he had promised her robes in return.

He had never bought robes for a woman. In fact he had never really bought anything for a woman before, not even his mother. That was a dilemma in itself, but when you added his status as a former Death Eater to the mix then you get a very hesitant and very inexperienced Draco.

He knew he was not welcome here. He saw it in the subtle surprised looks he received, and the low whispers of the passer-bys. Draco rubbed his clammy hands on his pants, his heart thudding with dread as he pushed open the door to the shop. The last time he was here, right after the war, Madam Malkin had refused to serve him. Tensions between the Dark Side and Light Side had been running high then. Would she refuse him today too?

A soft tinkle from the chime above the door alerted Madam Malkin to his arrival. She hurried around the bend of the store, with quick steps and flowing robes, arms spread open and a wide smile on her face.

"Welcome to Madam Malkin's Ro-" she paused abruptly when she saw Draco. Her smile disappeared and Draco could see her accessing him. After a few moments she folded her arms across her body. Draco could hear his heart pounding in his ears. His face was warm and his hands only felt more clammy. Finally she broke the silence, and gave him a false smile.

"Hello dear," said Madam Malkin, "How can I help you?"

It took a second for Draco to find his voice and when he finally spoke it was strained, low without any of his former arrogance.

"I need robes for-" _Who were they for_? He couldn't say a young woman, what if Aurors used that as a clue to find Hermione at his house? "For my mother," he finished.

"I'm sorry I haven't got those," she replied.

Draco looked around the store. There were robes hanging from racks packed so close together that the floor was invisible in the tiny shop. There were robes neatly folded in boxes that were kept on shelves that lined the walls from the ceiling to floor. There were even robes dumped on a table behind the main counter where Madam Malkin often received her customers. Robes, she had plenty, but none for him it seemed.

It had been three years and yet Madam Malkin was still politely refusing to serve him. She had conveniently forgotten that his mother had been buying robes from Madam Malkin's since she was a young girl. Although his family had never treated Madam Malkin rudely, they had always been courteous. Except for that time in his sixth year when his scar was fresh, and to cover up his inauguration into Death Eater ranks he had falsely blamed her for pricking him with a needle. Madam Malkin had not been happy to see her highest paying customers go despite the rumors about his family's associations with the Dark Lord. So when did her morals take precedence over money?

Draco's irritation must have shown because Madam Malkin quickly changed her answer.

"Perhaps I can find something," she mumbled as she proceeded to dive into the sea of robes nearby. She pulled out an extravagant robe of bright silver with pearls embroidered into the collar. "A fine robe for a fine woman, your mother. Twenty galleons," she declared.

Even if it was five galleons, Draco would never choose something so gaudy for Hermione. He shook his head gently, besides he could not afford twenty galleons for a dress.

"No?" she asked and pulled out another set of robes with equal extravagance but in deep purple and maroon, "Thirty galleons for this one. I know your mother likes dark colors."

Draco once again shook his head. "Something simple please, for daily wear," he requested.

"Daily wear." Madam Malkin mused, "I don't suppose your mother will be holding many galas of late?"

Draco knew that was a jab because most of the wizarding world knew Narcissa Malfoy was on house arrest. He decided to ignore it only because he had promised Hermione a new set of robes, and unlike last time, Madam Malkin was at least attempting to sell him something.

Finally, Madam Malkin pulled out a robe of silk in the colour of pale green. There was embroidery along the cuffs and the collar in a white thread that shone almost silver. Draco instantly imagined Hermione wearing it. It would suit her soft curves and graceful walk. It was perfect.

Draco nodded in approval. "How much for this one?"

"Fifty galleons," she said promptly.

 _Fifty galleons?!_ That is when Draco saw the small smirk on Madam Malkin's lips.

"Too much for you boy?" she asked, "Perhaps another shop could match your...budget."

Humiliation bubbled in his stomach, turning Draco a blotchy red. His hands shook and he had to clamp down on his wand to prevent Madam Malkin from seeing them shake. She never meant to sell him anything. It was never the money but the fear of retaliation from the Malfoy family that kept Madam Malkin in line all these years. With that threat gone, she could express her true loyalties now. This show today was her exercising her power over him. Draco wanted to throttle her with the pale green robe and set the shop on fire. Instead, he gave Madam Malkin a curt nod, and marched out the door, the bell tinkling to announce his departure.

The day was warm and the crowd in the alley had increased to the point of suffocation. Draco unbuttoned the top button of his jacket, nearly popping off the button as he wrenched at his collar. He was angry and humiliated, and he didn't like that at all. The crowd was pressing on him now but he pummeled his way through to Gringotts, uncaring of where or whom his elbows connected with.

It was only when he stepped into the cool marble atrium of the gigantic wizarding bank that Draco was able to focus on his surroundings. The building had sustained heavy damages from Potter's breakout. Even underground the tunnels had collapsed, blocking off access to many vaults, and the tracks for the cart had been broken too. Three years later, the atrium and the above ground dome building was repaired, but the underground tunnels would take some time to reconstruct and fortify with centuries of old goblin magic that had previously protected them. Fortunately, the Malfoy vault was not as deep underground as the Lestranges' which was still blocked off by a mountain of rubble.

Draco joined the shortest queue and started stonily at the back of the wizard's head in front of him. At one point in time, he could have used his influence to demand special service from the proud goblins but not anymore. He clenched his fists and actively avoided eye contact with anyone. Draco was still trying to calm his anger from the incident at Madam Malkin's, when his gaze fell on two witches in the line beside him. Both were old enough to be be called elderly but their extravagant choice in attire, complete with plumes of hippogriff feathers in their hats, said otherwise. One witch had her nose buried in the _Daily Prophet,_ the pages spread wide so the front page was facing Draco.

Draco tensed. Hermione's smiling face looked at him from the paper. Above her head was the heading, _**GRANGER STILL MISSING**_ , and under her photograph were the words, _**AURORS LOOKING FOR SUSPECTS.**_

"Did you hear?" said a witch.

"They say it was _Him_ ," said another.

"But why take her? Potter was his enemy not the muggleborn girl."

He could feel his hands grow clammy. His neck felt stiff. He dared not look at the witches anymore because he was sure they were talking about him. Rumours about Hermione's disappearance had not subsided. After all she had only disappeared a week before and the wizarding world was still in shock. Now it sounded like Aurors had started looking for suspects. But how did these witches know he had taken Hermione? How did they know about his and Potter's rivalry?

Someone could have seen him following her and reported their suspicions to the authorities. _That's impossible._ Draco had always been careful and even used the disillusionment charm to conceal himself if he followed her during the day. On _that_ day though, he hadn't. He was in a crowded market place at twilight in the middle of a thunderstorm, and he was too preoccupied by the mudblood witch to even consider the danger of being seen.

Draco was visibly sweating now. If these witches knew that he had taken Hermione, then he had to leave Gringotts quickly. Thankfully, the line had progressed and Draco now stood before a Gringotts goblin. He quickly handed the goblin the key to his vault and his wand for identification without making eye contact. A younger goblin soon escorted Draco from the atrium to the underground tunnels, but the shorter creature wasn't walking fast enough to the carts and Draco almost tripped over him twice in his haste. The goblin noticed Draco's edgy disposition and grumbled under his breath about "self-entitled, pompous creatures with pointy sticks".

To agitate Draco further, the young goblin pretended to drop the keys and fumble about the lock, tapping his foot to an invisible rhythm. Just when he was about to lose his temper, the vault was opened. Standing in the towering cavern of his family's vault, Draco felt small in comparison. He hurriedly stuffed a small dragon hide purse with galleons from the only pile of gold on the floor. He gave the vault, that once was filled to the brim with treasures and gold, a sweeping looking before exiting with his head held high.

He needed to get home to his sanctuary, to Hermione.

o-o-o

The setting sun colored the sky with swirls of royal purple and vibrant orange, making the sky look like it was on fire. Hermione stood by the lone window in Draco's room watching Narcissa in the garden below. She was sitting as usual on the stone bench, her hair illuminated by the colors of twilight. Today she looked relaxed, her hand twisting lazily in the air transfiguring the hedges to look like different animals. Hermione smiled at the simple magic, imagining herself sitting on the bench besides Narcissa and making the animals come to life.

But that would only remain a fantasy. Narcissa's ideologies were steeped deep in pureblood ideals and she would probably scorn Hermione's presence even after the war. No matter how desperate Hermione was for the wizarding world to change, she knew now that you couldn't force people to change; convince them maybe, but even that can take decades, perseverance and laws like the ones she was working on before Malfoy brought her here.

 _Where is Malfoy?_ It was almost night and he wasn't home yet. Hermione didn't have access to a clock so she judged the time of day by the movement of the sun. Yesterday, Malfoy had come back before the sun had set but today the sun had almost set and the blonde hadn't made an appearance.

Hermione hoped he wasn't angry anymore about her questioning this morning, but it was out of genuine concern. Harry had attacks often too for the first year after the war but Ginny's constant presence had helped him heal. It seemed like Malfoy had been suffering alone and he was definitely lonely.

"Trying to escape, Granger?"

Hermione whipped around from the window at his voice. She hadn't heard him enter. The purple twilight cast shadows across Malfoy's tall frame. His hair was disheveled and his collar was open at the top, but he didn't look tired or annoyed with her. Malfoy was levitating a tray of food with his wand and he had robes draped over one arm.

"I was watching the sunset," Hermione replied. It was half the truth. "I got tired of staring at the walls."

Malfoy didn't comment but his guilty look was enough for Hermione. He placed the tray on the table near the bed and she noticed there were two plates of food today, and a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey.

"These are for you," he said, holding out the set of robes for her to take.

Hermione looked at them wearily. She hadn't moved from her spot near the window.

"They aren't bewitched. They're a bit old, but they're my mother's. They might not be what you are used to but I couldn't buy-I mean, I didn't have time to buy new ones, and I don't know your size or what you like. I haven't bought robes for a witch before either-"

Malfoy was stumbling on his words, his eyes glancing nervously around. He looked like he was being tortured by his embarrassment, but it was more than that. Hermione knew Malfoy was trying to apologize for his behavior this morning and he had no idea how to do it.

Hermione darted forward, grabbed the robes as Malfoy was still talking and walked right past him to the bathroom. She shut the door and broke into a wide smile. Watching Malfoy fumbling in embarrassment was the funniest thing she had seen in a long time. A giggle escaped her and she immediately slapped her hand to her mouth. _What's wrong with me?_

Horrified, Hermione began to dress, reminding herself that the man out there was her abductor and she was here against her will. Her goal was to escape and everything she was doing now was for her to achieve that goal.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The robe was more like a dress really, with a short collar that stood up straight and long sleeves that hugged her arms but the arms also had extra fabric hanging from it so it looked like her sleeves were large and roomy. The bodice tightened a bit at her waist only for the skirt of the dress to flare elegantly to the floor. The fabric was a dark blue and when she ran her hands over it, Hermione could feel the slightly raised pattern of stars embroidered into the fabric.

It was a beautiful set of robes but much too fancy to wear everyday. Hermione took a deep breath and gripped her thoughts tightly with a mental hand before exiting the bathroom.

She found Malfoy looking out the window, with a glass of firewhiskey in one hand. He had changed from his Ministry robes into a set of black robes almost identical to the ones he was wearing the night he abducted her from the alley. The table was set with cutlery and napkins and even a jar of flames in the centre.

The last rays of sunlight bathed the room in a soft glow, making Malfoy's hair look like spun gold. When he turned around to look at her with those cool blue eyes, Hermione's grip on her thoughts slipped and suddenly she felt like she was falling.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hi Guys! Sorry for the wait! Thank you once again to the readers who are supporting this story with their views, alerts and reviews! There is a treat for you guys this chapter ;) ;).

Every single one of your opinions matter to me so let's keep these reviews going! Please? :P

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

 **Chapter 7**

Draco's heart stopped. Hermione stood in the bathroom doorway dressed in the blue robes he had given her, illuminated by the dying rays of the sun. She looked beautiful. The robes were simple, something he had seen his mother wear everyday at home when he was younger, but Hermione looked regal in them. The robes hugged her curves gently and made her cascading brown hair contrast elegantly with the fabric. She shied under his stare, a faint pink coloring her cheeks as she wrapped her arms about her middle.

"Do your family always wear such fancy robes?" she said sweeping her hand over the skirt.

"Fancy? My mother considers that basic," he replied.

Hermione smiled slightly as his answer, like she was sharing a joke with herself. Draco's heart swelled. She had smiled for the first time since they arrived here.

"I thought I could join you for dinner tonight?" he continued.

"Sure," she replied and took a seat on the bed.

Draco sat on the chair across from her and offered her firewhiskey. She politely declined, avoiding looking at him as much as possible, but Draco couldn't stop looking at Hermione. He observed her every action, almost involuntarily, as they ate in a comfortable albeit awkward silence. She touched her hair frequently, pushing it back from her shoulders so it didn't fall into her food. She never put her fork and knife down between bites, as if she was in a hurry to finish and get back to whatever important work she had put aside for a meal. She licked her lips often too and tapped her index finger like the ticking of a clock while holding her knife between bites.

Draco wanted to put his hand over hers, cease her tapping fingers and tell her to focus on the present, on him.

"Stop what?" she asked.

Draco snapped out of his reverie. She was looking back at him confused.

"What?" he asked.

"You said 'stop it'. Stop what?"

Draco didn't realize he had spoken.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

"You've hardly eaten," she commented. Hermione's plate was polished but he had barely taken a few bites of his food. Hunger was never at the forefront of his mind. He had lost his want to eat years ago when the attacks had started. She would probably puzzle that out soon enough, bright as she was, and nosy but that didn't mean Draco would willingly give up the information.

"I don't care much for food," he said in a clipped tone. Draco replaced his full plate with her empty one and said, "Eat."

Hermione didn't touch the plate. She continued to look at him with a piercing gaze. It was Draco's turn now to avoid her eyes. He poured himself a second glass of firewhiskey and determinedly turned his face to look out the window. The stars were appearing one by one in the clear night sky.

"What happened to you Malfoy?"

Draco clenched his fingers around the glass. She just didn't know when to quit.

"You don't look like you used to at Hogwarts. I've never seen you eat anything since I arrived here until today, but even then you've barely touched your food," she said but Draco ignored her.

"Your mother doesn't look very well either-,"continued Hermione.

"Don't talk about my mother," snapped Draco. He glared at her with as much contempt as he could muster but Hermione didn't flinch.

"I saw her in the garden yesterday."

"Been snooping around have you?"

"I saw her from the window. _You_ made sure I can't leave this room," her voice was calm when she spoke but the accusation was evident. A pause and then, "She needs a healer."

" _What_ she needs doesn't concern you."

"I know you care for her—"

"Don't presume you know anything about me—"

"I know more than you think!" Hermione snapped back, agitated now.

Malfoy scoffed, downed the liquor in one mouthful and slammed the glass down on the table. The firewhiskey burned his throat.

"You don't know _shit_ ," he snarled and stood up from his chair too fast, making his head spin from the alcohol. He was done with this dinner. What was he thinking? They could never be civil with each other. She stood up too.

"You said that last time," Hermione was not done yet, clearly. "What do you mean?"

Ignoring her, Draco stumbled to the window wanting to put distance between them but secretly hoping she would cover the space.

"Why do you care?" he shot back.

"Because you want me to care! That's why you brought me here, isn't it?" Hermione's anger was showing. Draco kept his back turned to her, silent.

"There is something you want to tell me but you don't know how. Am I right?" she circled around him so they were standing face to face. "That's why you cornered me in that alley last week, and that's why you brought me here," she said triumphantly.

Draco locked her with his steely gaze, "No."

"Liar."

Draco's lips curled up in a sneer. "If I'm a liar. Then what are you?" his voice was low when he spoke. Since he had brought her to the Manor, she had lit a slow burning fury inside him that seemed to always simmer just beneath the rest of his emotions-a kind of fury that only she could light. He advanced on her one step at a time.

"You really think you're better than everyone else don't you? You defeated the darkest wizard of all time and suddenly everyone has to look up to you. Suddenly, you alone get to decide what's wrong and what's right, who is good enough to deserve your mercy and who isn't?" he challenged.

"I never defeated Voldemort, Harry did," Hermione snapped, "And I don't decide what's wrong and what's right. The people decide that and the Ministry follows the will of it's people."

" _No_ ," he countered her point quickly. "The Ministry _enforces_ the will of the people in power- _your people."_

"What is your point?" she asked.

"My _point_ is that your lot are no different from mine. The-boy-who-lived and the Gryffindor princess are _no different_ from the staunch pureblooded families and the Death Eaters that you have condemned in your new world!" Draco argued.

"That's ridiculous. Of course we are different from them! We don't kill people because of their blood or torture people for _entertainment._ And we haven't condemned anybody, only murderers who don't deserve a place in society because they pose a legitimate threat! I have been fighting for equality across the magical creatures populations because that is the right thing to do!" Hermione shouted.

"Equality?!" spat Draco, "What do _you_ know about equality?"

"More than you ever will, that's for sure," Hermione replied.

Draco had backed Hermione into a corner. He slammed his hand into the wall above her head. He could see the fear in her eyes now but there was defiance there too and that only spurred him on.

"Tell me, Granger, is stripping a family of their entire wealth, _equality_ to you?" he asked, his voice dangerously low again. "Or walking into a shop and being refused to be served even though you were acquitted for your crimes, equality to you? What about being refused employment because of a mark on your arm that brands you as something you're not for the rest of your life?"

Hermione didn't answer for a long time. Then finally she spoke, "You made your choice Malfoy. You chose to take the Mark and be a Death Eater."

 _And there it_ _i_ _s_ , thought Malfoy, _the discrimination and false ideologies perpetuated by the Light_. His heart was heavy and his stomach churned from her response. She would never see him as anything more than his past choices just like Madam Malkin, Tom from the Leaky Cauldron and the rest of the wizarding world. Draco was so close to her now. Her cinnamon scent was intoxicating, mingling with the firewhiskey in his head, blurring all comprehension. His lips curled into a sneer.

"That's right," he said, "I'm a Death Eater. And you know what you are?"

He placed one hand on her waist and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "A mudblood who doesn't know her place."

It was dark but even in the shadows he could see her eyes brimming with unshed tears and her breath beginning to hitch in anger. Draco felt like something was lodged in his throat. He despised his behaviour right now but he was too drunk on the power he had over her at this moment that he couldn't stop. He reached up with his other hand and gently caressed her jaw with his thumb before diving his fingers into her uncontrollable hair. She gritted her teeth at his touch but didn't look away from him.

"Should I teach you your place, Granger?" he asked applying pressure on her waist and ghosting his thumb over her bottom lip. He could ruin her in a matter of minutes, right here, and no one would know. The urge to act on his instincts was too tempting but he controlled it.

"Get away from me Malfoy," she hissed.

"Or what?" he smirked.

Her answer came as a hard slap to his face. For a second Draco didn't react, then he saw red. He released her waist and gripped her offending hand painfully by the wrist, pinning it to her side. The hand he had in her hair fisted into her curls pulling her head back slightly. Hermione's startled gasp was cut off by Malfoy's lips capturing her's. She was too shocked to move and Draco took advantage of her immobility to kiss her harder. Soon enough she was pounding on his chest with her free hand, struggling to remove her mouth from his, but Draco was done being nice.

He pressed himself completely into her and released her wrist to hold her head firmly with both hands as he kissed her.

Hermione fought back. She tried to wedge her hands between their torsos and push him away. When that didn't work she started punching his ribs, pulling and pushing his jacket almost ripping the fabric. Draco welcomed the assault. He hadn't felt this alive in years. His blood was crackling with need, the need to feel something, _anything_. He could feel the pain in his ribs where Hermione was punching him and he liked it. He could feel the softness of her lips on his and he loved it.

Eventually, Hermione stopped struggling and she sank into his touch like all the strength had left her. Draco eased his grip on her jaw and ran his tongue over her bottom lip. She responded with the smallest of moans. Encouraged, he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his and gaining access to the sweetest thing he had ever tasted—her. When he caressed the sensitive skin under her ears, she gripped his jacket tightly, shuddering. When he sucked on the corner of her lips she moaned. When he pulled back for breath, she closed the gap between their lips first. Before Draco could understand what was happening, her hands were in his hair and his arms were around her waist, and their lips were battling for dominance.

Neither of them knew how long they stood in the dark corner of the room kissing like their lives depended on it but the end came too soon for Draco. Still entwined in each other's arms, breathing deep to compensate for the lack of air, their eyes met. He saw Hermione's eyes change from dazed to confused, to horror and finally shame. With the shame came tears, fast and never ending, streaming down flushed pink cheeks. That's when Draco knew that although he desired her, she didn't desire him wholeheartedly. What had transpired between them was a moment of passion for him and an act of shame for her. The taste of firewhiskey quickly turned sour in his mouth with rejection.

He released her and stepped away from the corner, his head hanging low.

"I told you not to slap me again," he said but there was no bite to his words. Disappointed and angry, Draco spun on his heel and hurried through the secret doorway to his sanctuary, not caring that Hermione now knew about his hideout.

o-o-o

Her tears wouldn't stop. The moon rose high in the sky, but Hermione couldn't stop crying. She undressed, donned her bathrobe and still the tears fell. Finally exhausted. she curled into bed but sleep never came and the tears came too easily.

She felt dirty, and disgusted with herself. Malfoy had kissed her without her consent but she had given in. _No, it's worse than that_ , she thought, _I liked it_. It was wrong to kiss him back no matter how much her escape plans depended on befriending Malfoy but something in heart had given in. Malfoy had lulled her into a false sense of security despite his attitude and rash behaviour. She should have kept those moments in mind: the mudblood slurs, the snappy behaviour, his almost attack in the bathroom. Instead, like the fool she was, Hermione had focused on his vulnerability and Narcissa's failing health, attributing his small acts of kindness to something he could never be.

Merlin help her. This whole situation, this room, this manor was playing tricks with her mind. She belonged with Ron and the Weasleys. They were her family and her future. Ron Weasley was the right wizard for her. He was kind, patient, and sweet. He was a good friend and a compassionate lover. He was everything Draco was not, and she had betrayed the man she loved.

Hermione sighed heavily as dawn arrived like an uninvited stranger to an intimate gathering. She wanted the darkness back, the shadows to cover her shame and self resentment. She wanted to stop thinking, stop feeling, just turn off her mind and when she would wake again everything would have been an elaborate dream. However, sleep evaded her and the day beckoned her. So she rose like a corpse from the dead and made her way to the bathroom, sparing a fleeting glance at the midnight blue robes strewn across the chair that Malfoy had sat on the night before, and the deserted table set for two. At the very last second she snatched up the bottle of Ogden's as she passed.

Once in the bathroom, she filled the tub with water and sank into the blissful warmth, continuing to try and stifle her thoughts. Keeping her hands busy always helped to turn off her mind, so she picked up the bar of soap and began rubbing it in slow circles on her thighs and legs, then her shoulders and neck. When she reached her arms and hands she noticed a faint purple colouring on her wrist where Malfoy had grabbed her roughly. For an instant she was livid at him, and at herself. How dare he touch her like that, like she was an object to be controlled rather than a person who felt pain?

 _What about you Hermione_? said a voice inside her. _How could you let him kiss you despite that?_

And just like that her anger turned to self-loathing. Hot tears stung her eyes. she dropped the soap in the water and felt it settle in her lap, then she reached for the bottle of firewhiskey on the floor. Making quick work of the cap she took a deep drink, and shuddered as the hot liquid burned her insides activating goosebumps across her skin despite the warm water. She lowered the bottle but the lip of it was still pressed against hers and she was reminded of the feel of him. The way his thumb grazed over her lower lip and his cold fingers feeling the edges of her jaw before disappearing into her hair. She could feel his body pressing in hers with an inexplicable want.

She took another swig of firewhiskey, an unknown heat from within was conquering her body. Hermione rested her head on the back of the tub, closed her eyes and savored the heat. She could see his face looming above hers behind her eyelids. The pale starlight bathing half his features, and the other half covered in shadows. But his eyes stood out the most, so light blue they looked like ice gleaming on a full moon night. And his lips, _dear Merlin,_ soft yet demanding against hers, conveying his needs, his wants, taking every last ounce of her decency and sanity as his tongue struggled with her own and his hands gripped her waist in a desperate way that made her come undone. Hermione's body went taut and she rode the pleasures of her imagination.

She panted openly, cold air filling her lungs and clearing the stifling haze in her brain as she came down from her high to realize her fingers had wandered between her lower lips at the thought of Malfoy's touch.

 _Good Godric._ Horrified by her actions, Hermione snatched her fingers away from her core and stared at them like they weren't hers to begin with. what was wrong with her? Had it been so long that a crude man like Malfoy could arouse her now? A painful cramp seized her stomach. She felt sicker and more disgusted with herself than before she had entered the bathtub. So she she did what she thought was the wisest thing to do: drink firewhiskey. It was the next best thing to ice cream. She chugged the bottle of Ogden's like water, hoping that the magical liquor would burn away her shame, her thoughts, her wants and desires for an impossible and, definitely incorrigible, platinum-haired wizard.

o-o-o

Draco arrived at the Ministry the next morning not having slept a wink. A certain witch and her body had occupied his mind the whole night, but unfortunately, so had her opinions on former Death Eaters. Every time the image of her in the blue robes rose to the peak of his thoughts, he would shove it down with her words: _You chose to take the Mark and be a Death Eater._

Yes, he had, and now he was paying for it in every area of his life. Take today for example. Some idiot thought it funny to charm the public toilets of four bars in Brixton last night to talk to the drunkards who tried to take a piss. Of course, the muggles attributed these bizzare incidents to the alcohol or narcotics they had consumed. Zabini had nonchalantly dubbed the task as "some pesky toilets" but the gleam in his eye should have alerted Draco. Now, he had the pleasure of dealing with these toilets first thing in the morning when in another reality he could have been delegating others from a comfy armchair in his own office back at the Ministry.

"Well don' ya look shitty," said a toilet.

"Shut it," muttered Draco and magicked the talking toilet back to normal. It took the better part of his day and the afternoon to lift the charms from the toilets of the three other bars, and then visit every single drunkard the Ministry could trace to obliviate their memories. When he returned to the Ministry, he was in desperate want of a bath. He hadn't showered in the morning because Hermione had been in the bathroom at home, and walking into those filthy toilets had made his skin crawl.

Zabini wrinkled his nose as Draco handed him the day's reports.

"Well, you looks worse than usual," he teased.

"I will get you for this," Draco glowered at him.

"Take the rest of the day off. I don't need you stinking up the place and I haven't got anything for you to do," Zabini chuckled.

Draco was taken aback. He had never been allowed to leave early or even dared to ask to leave early before.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think it's for the best," Zabini replied, unsmiling.

"What do you mean?" said Draco.

Zabini's face grew solemn. He indicated to the tea room in the corner with a jerk of his head.

"Follow me," he said.

As soon as the door to the tea room was closed Draco blurted, "Am I being let go?"

"No!" said Zabini but he still wasn't smiling. Instead he looked shifty, nervous almost. Finally, "Ron Weasley came by earlier looking for you."

Draco's heart plummeted. _He knows._ He schooled his features to look calm. "What did he want?"

Zabini chuckled nervously, "It's ridiculous really! Bloke still thinks he's fighting old Voldy."

"What did he want Blaise?" asked Draco stonily.

Zabini gulped. For a minute, it was like they were back at Hogwarts when Draco commanded their little slytherin possie and Zabini was just another Crabbe or Goyle.

"He thinks you have something to do with Granger's disappearance," Zabini finished.

* * *

 **A/N:** Reviewwwwwww!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hi everyone, thank you so much for your positive comments and support. The holidays are always a busy time so I am sorry for the late update.

But Happy New Year and here is a chapter!

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

 **Chapter 8**

" _He thinks you have something to do with Granger's disappearance," Zabini finished._

Draco felt his limbs grow cold. He was frozen, his tongue wouldn't move, his brain became inactive. Weasley was on to him. _How?_ Draco had made no contact with Granger prior to the day he abducted her. So no one would draw the connection. Yet Weasley suspected him but on what basis?

"I told you it was ridiculous," continued Zabini, "Weasley was always a bit of nutter even at Hogwarts. Am I right?"

The question was a test. Zabini casually played with the scruff of his sleeve but his scrutinizing eyes were fixed on Draco. _Should I tell him the truth?_ Everything would be over then and there. Zabini would report him because he never had a reason to protect Draco. After all, they were friends of convenience, nothing more. The Aurors would be alerted, and Draco would be bound and held in the dungeons while a group searched his home and found Hermione. All the stress, pain and secrets would be finished. He could live free of obligations and responsibilities, and care only about his remaining sanity in Azkaban.

But the end was not now. Not yet. There were things he had to see through first. There was also his mother. Draco hadn't responded to Zabini's initial revelation nor his question. He would suspect something if Draco stalled anymore.

"What an idiot," smirked Draco, "Merlin knows how Weasley was admitted to the Auror Academy with those brains."

Receiving a satisfactory answer, Zabini relaxed. "Indeed. You should get going though, just in case," chuckled Zabini.

Draco nodded and forced his frozen muscles to move him towards the exit. However, Zabini called him before Draco could close the door to the tea room.

"Draco?" he said, "I know you're not your father but you're not made for the Light either. These are _odd_ times we live in and your past is against you. Best be careful, if I were you."

Draco nodded again in acknowledgement and left.

o-o-o

There was a pounding in Draco's head akin to that of a troll pummeling a wall. It was constant, irritating and unstoppable since Zabini's tea room talk. Draco stood in the cool shade of the Manor's patio watching his mother's magical garden. It was too early in the day for Narcissa's routine and he had never been home this early before. He decided he liked coming home later in the evening because he got to watch his mother work the little magic she was allowed to use while on house arrest. There were also fewer hours left in the day that he had to spend alone.

His thoughts went back to his conversation with Zabini at the ministry. Should he go after Weasley and shut him up for good? He had tailed Hermione Granger undetected for months. In comparison, the blathering idiot was an easy target for a curse to the back. Or should he let Granger go but beg her for forgiveness, hoping that she won't report him to the authorities?

He had shaken off Zabini's suspicion but Draco was far from unconcerned about Ron Weasley's speculations. Just to be cautious he had quickly apparated to two random destinations before apparating back to the Manor. Draco knew Weasley was still in training at the Auror Academy with Potter, but the bloke's almost-fiancé was missing and Weasley's obsession was not to be underestimated.

Draco placed his head on the cool stone pillar next to him to try ease his headache. He closed his eyes and the memories of Granger from the night before came rushing back again; her in the blue robes, her eyes shining in the starlight, the feel of her lips on his. Draco shuddered. The real reason why Draco had played nonchalant with Zabini was currently sitting in his bedroom. Last night was a spontaneous moment fueled by anger but it had given him a taste of her passion. She had always been a fighter, a lioness of Gryffindor; quick to irate, quick to defend and even quicker to show her loyalty. The way she responded to his kiss had involuntarily wrenched out emotions in him that he believed extinct. Now because of her, his emotions had captured his brain and held it hostage in a siege that Draco needed to see through to the end.

Besides, imagining Weasley kissing Hermione the way Draco had last night made his head ache even worse. He couldn't admit to Zabini that he was the culprit and face Azkaban knowing that Hermione would be returning to that sodding ginger blood-traitor.

It was almost evening. She would be awake but would she want to see him so soon after their… _moment_ last night? A warm breeze passed over him and the stink of the toilets that had clung to his clothes assaulted his nose. He was also in desperate need of a bath. Draco left the cool of the patio for his bedroom, all the while trying to convince his mind that it was the bath he was looking forward to, _not_ the witch in his room.

Draco softly knocked on his bedroom door, the irony of which did not fail to catch his attention. He almost smiled to himself. Almost. Minutes passed but there was no answer. Worried, he entered cautiously to find Hermione was not in the room. Panic set in immediately. Draco searched the room with his wand out. He wouldn't put it past her to attempt escape after last night. She wasn't under the bed, nor under the table on the far corner of the room. The curtains were open but Draco quickly swept them away from the glass to ensure Hermione wasn't behind them. Finally, he strode to the bathroom calling her name.

He knocked hard on the door twice then wiggled the door knob to find it locked.

"Hermione! Open the door!" No answer.

"Damn it," muttered Draco, " _Alohamora_." He kicked open the door, his eyes frantically searching for her.

She was in the bathtub, the water upto her neck, her head resting back on the tub's lip and her eyes closed. _I've killed her_.

"No, no, no," Draco began muttering. He shook her limp form and continued to call her name. He placed a hand to her forehead. She wasn't cold, just the opposite. She was hot, nearly burning. Her skin looked shriveled and her hair was damp but cold from a hot steam that had long cooled. A finger under her nose confirmed that she wasn't dead. He had to get her out of the tub.

In one quick movement he plunged his arms in to the water, robes and all, and lifted Hermione from the tub. A great wave of water came with her and soaked his clothes completely before gushing on to the marble floor. Hermione was utterly naked, glistening and wet. Draco's eyes quickly wandered over her body, the curves of her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, the apex of her thighs. He immediately snapped his head up, a deep blush colouring his face. If Hermione knew that he had seen her like this, she would flay him alive—wand or no wand. Draco gulped and started walking while gathering all his will power to not look down.

A loud clink stopped him. He had kicked something in his haste and the object had gone flying from the bathroom into the bedroom. The object was unmistakably the bottle of Ogden's he had brought for dinner last night. It was also unmistakably empty. Draco barked a laugh in disbelief. Hermione Granger was not dead. She was drunk.

o-o-o

 _Something's wrong._ Hermione was tethering on the edge of consciousness. She tried to pull her mind to the surface but there was something dragging her down like a liquid weight that made her limbs and head heavy. Something was wrong with her but it wasn't just her, it was her surroundings too. _It's too quiet._

She tried to open her eyes but the effort drained her and the black void took over once more.

The next time she woke, there was noise; footsteps, receding and approaching in a continuous beat that, as she listened, lulled her back to sleep.

The third time she woke up, she smelled onions. Not the spicy kind whose pungent stink made her eyes water, but rather a fragrant smell like onions are cooked in a broth.

"Drink," said a voice and Hermione finally opened her eyes to see a bright aura feeding her from a bowl. She drank the broth, warmth filling her cold flesh and she slept again feeling comforted.

Hermione was hanging in limbo, a space in time where her thoughts, dreams and reality became a concoction and she couldn't tell them apart. She dreamed of a pale faced man lifting her from a bathtub filled with firewhiskey, in which she was trying to drown her thoughts but somehow ended up drowning herself. This man was familiar yet unrecognizable. He was gentle with his caresses as he nursed her. He even sang a song she had never heard but the melody was imprinted in her mind. She even dreamt him weeping over her form and her reaching for him to envelope him in her arms because she could not bear to hear him cry. So when Hermione gained full consciousness to find her limbs tangled with a pair of cold but strong arms around her middle and a platinum blonde head resting on her chest, she thought she must still be dreaming.

"Awake?" asked Malfoy.

 _Malfoy?!_ In a sudden flash, Hermione recovered her memories. She was in Malfoy Manor, Malfoy had kidnapped her, they had had several arguments, and even _kissed!_ Then, the worst memory of all: her drunkenly masturbating to a fantasy about Malfoy in _his_ bathtub.

Hermione couldn't even think of an appropriate exclamation that would convey her horror and embarrassment. Instead, she unraveled herself from Malfoy's limbs and scooted to the corner of the bed, placing as much distance as she could between herself and him, hoping that would steady her heartbeat. _What the hell was she doing cuddling with Malfoy?_

Her heart was thudding rapidly in her chest. She could not look at him so she chose to survey her surroundings. Gone was the bathtub from her last memory. She was in Malfoy's bed instead. Hermione was warm, dry and clothed in a shirt two sizes too large for her. And underneath? Absolutely nothing; as naked as her name day. Clutching the collar of the shirt, Hermione looked to Malfoy in apprehension.

He lay on his side, shirtless, with his elbow propping up his head, amused but trying to hide it.

"Don't worry. We didn't go all the way," he said.

Dumbfounded, Hermione croaked, "All…all the way?" _What had she done?_ Hermione could feel the tears beginning to form. _Oh, Ron!_

"Yes," smirked Draco, "you know, procreation, fornication, _sex?_ Well you were more than ready the way you threw yourself at me—"

Hermione burst into tears, feeling hysterical. She had betrayed Ron. First a kiss, now Merlin knows what she had done with Malfoy. Realizing that she was wearing Malfoy's shirt Hermione began to pull at it. She must have looked mad because Malfoy immediately sat up and tried to pry her hands away from herself.

"Stop! Stop! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was a joke!" Malfoy laughed.

"A joke?" Hermione roared. She had finally found her voice, "Does this look like a joke to you?!" Her self-loathing switched to anger and now she was trying to claw at him but her wrists were still locked in his grip.

"How dare you?!" she continued to struggle against him, "How can you be so cruel—?"

Malfoy wrenched her arms and then forcefully crossed them in front of her, tightening his grip on her wrists. He was serious now. His aggression rendered Hermione quiet but she channeled her accusation into her eyes and glared at Draco, chest heaving. His eyes softened.

"I swear to you," he whispered, his face inches from hers, "Nothing happened between us. It was a harmless joke but you're right, it was cruel of me. I'm sorry."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Malfoy was being sincere, and even more shocking, he was _apologizing._

"But then why am I wearing your shirt? Why are we…on your bed?" Hermione asked timidly.

Malfoy let go of her and sat back on his heels. The tension was gone from him, the animosity he had kept up like a brick wall since the day he brought her here was missing. He looked like the mischievous boy from Hogwarts before sixth year. He looked thoughtful for a moment then crossed his arms across his chest and fixed those oddly mischievous eyes on her.

"Tell me Granger, why do I always find you in a compromising state in the bathroom?" he mused, "First, you faint on the bathroom floor out of self-starvation and last evening I find you unconscious and _drunk_ in my bathtub. If you like the bathroom so much, you need only ask to be moved and I will grant your wish in a heartbeat."

Hermione felt her entire face flush. Getting drunk was bad enough but getting caught by Malfoy was worse.

"A drunk Hermione Granger in my bathroom," Malfoy chuckled in disbelief, "Who would have thought?"

Avoiding his eyes, she answered, "I fancied myself a drink."

"On an empty stomach in a hot bath?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," she said stonily.

"Next time you fancy a drink, let me know because I rather not find you half dead in my bathtub _again_ ," he warned. "I didn't know how long you were in there but you ran yourself a fever too. I was able to get you to drink some broth and hangover potions or you would have been unconscious for a few days."

Hermione didn't answer. How much of what he had said was the truth? But he sounded sincere, honest and even concerned about her. Hermione was confused. This gentle, calm and truthful man was not present during their dinner argument. Gone was the malice and crude comments; the " _Let me show you your place"_ attitude. This Malfoy had nursed her back to health, and saved her twice from her own stupidity. Which one was the real Draco? Which one should she try to befriend?

"Okay," Hermione started cautiously, "That doesn't explain how I ended up in your shirt and in your bed"

"That's a story for another time," he replied cryptically.

The first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon, slowly basking the room in light. Hermione could better see Malfoy now, his pale hair and complexion, his aristocratic features, the outline of his broad shoulders and arms—the very ones she had slept in. The light also illuminated his imperfections. On his left forearm, the dark mark shone like blood. The mark was intact but faded in comparison to when Voldemort was in power. It might disappear altogether as the years pass. Marring the rest of his arms were tiny scars reminiscent of wounds acquired during the final battle, Hermione assumed. The largest scar of all was long, thick and diagonally positioned from just below his collar bone to his navel. The scar was prominent and protruding as if he was sliced by a sword and stitched up hastily.

"Potter gave me this one, in sixth year," Malfoy had caught her staring. Hermione met his eyes once more. She found no embarrassment, anger or vengeance in his eyes. He was talking to her like stating a fact in class.

" _Scectumsempra,_ " he continued, "A dark spell for the likes of Potter."

"He didn't know what the spell would do," Hermione immediately defended Harry, "He found it in Snape's old potions book."

"Snape saved me," argued Draco.

"Yes, only he could save you because he invented that spell," Hermione said softly.

Malfoy furrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Harry didn't know the book belonged to Snape," continued Hermione, "He was devastated when he used the spell on you. It terrified him that he had an affinity for the dark side. So he hid the book in the Room of Requirement and hasn't used a dark spell since. Not even against Voldemort."

Draco looked away. "I didn't know that," he commented.

The scar was the not only protruding item on Malfoy's body. His ribs outlined his sides pushing beneath his skin. His shoulders were broad but the bones were lacking the muscle that should encapsulate them. His face had not changed much since she arrived here. It was as sunken and hollow, except for his eyes. His eyes had changed. They had been empty in the alley but Hermione had seen them filled with emotions several times thereafter. Fear, anger, desire, compassion, anxiety, and today...she hadn't figured out his mood yet. His body showed signs of neglect and malnourishment. Malfoy was not eating. His mother looked sickly too.

She remembered his words from last night:

 _"_ _Tell me, Granger, is stripping a family of their entire wealth,_ equality _to you?"_

The Malfoys had lost their fortune; or rather it was taken from them. _By your lot_ , Hermione reminded herself. There was no point pretending. The Ministry, _her_ ministry that she so proudly worked for, had done this to Malfoy. She was somehow responsible because she hadn't thought about the losing side's consequences. She cared only about her loss, her pain and her suffering. Never did she stop to think that there were families on the other side of the war too. Families very much like the Weasleys. Despite their barbaric, archaic and twisted mentalities, the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Crabbes and Goyles were families destroyed by Voldemort's ideologies. The Black family's example had started at Hermione in the face since she was fifteen years old and she didn't even realize it then.

Guilt burned Hermione's core but if she broached that topic with Draco now then his unusually calm demeanor would retreat in to his shell.

Instead she asked, "Can I touch it?"

"What?"

"Your scar. The one Harry gave you," she clarified.

"Why?"

"To examine it. I think I can heal it. I've done some light reading on scars left by dark magic after George's ear got blasted," Hermione knew she was rambling but this is what she did best—find solutions to puzzles and problems no one has found before. "I've also read up on healing magic but not much. I would need to do some research first, of course. So no promises yet, but if I had the right books then I could find something that could at least reduce its prominence," she finished breathless.

Malfoy continued to stare at her. "Why would you help me?" he asked.

 _Why indeed?_ Hermione's actions didn't make sense to her. She didn't quite understand why she had offered him help on an impulse but she pitied him. In a way, he reminded her of Harry: a boy who had not known kindness. Malfoy was undeniably privileged since his birth, but kindness, appreciation, friendship and sacrifice were traits he had never truly experienced. However, unlike Harry, who had the Weasleys, Sirus and Dumbledore to care for him after he left the Dursley home, Draco grew up learning from his power-hungry father. Now, as an adult Draco was suffering the decisions of his parents and was burdened by their mistakes. Yes, her people had stripped him of his privilege to punish his family for their crimes, but was it right to punish Malfoy for the actions of his father?

Perhaps, if Hermione showed him kindness now, he could be just a bit better of a person after she escaped and maybe, just maybe he wouldn't hate her so much. However, to get Malfoy to change, she would have to do it his way with deals, tricks and exchanges because promises meant nothing to this man.

"That's a story for another time," she smirked. "I'll find a cure for your scar but you must promise me something in return," she said, tucking a stray curl behind her hair. His eyes followed her every movement.

"Not your freedom," he promptly supplied. He was suspicious, and he very well should be. She wasn't a Ravenclaw but Hermione was known for nabbing people who bothered her in clever and carefully constructed plans. Draco probably still remembered how she had given him and Umbridge the slip in fifth year. _If he knew what I did to Skeeter he would never trust me,_ thought Hermione.

"No, I didn't except you to give that up so readily," she said darkly. "You need to promise me that you will _eat_."

"Eat?" He said as if she had asked him to jump out the window.

"Eat together," Hermione repeated, "Twice a day, breakfast and dinner with me."

Draco's confusion was almost comical. His brows furrowed, his mouth hung open and his head tilted. Hermione couldn't help it, she laughed.

"Did that dip in the tub screw up your mind Granger or were you always like this?" he asked.

Hermione laughed even harder. Everything seemed so absurd. She was kidnapped and making a deal with her captor that would only benefit him. But Hermione had other plans too. She might have offered him help on impulse but if this worked out, she could have her wand back or maybe access to materials that could help her escape.

Malfoy, confused by her offer of help, could not respond. Why did she want to help him when all he has done is cause her misery? Her laughter was unnerving, but pleasant. He liked it better than the tears he had made her spill two nights ago, better then the semi-conscious state she was in yesterday that had left him terrified and anxious. But there was something else he could not understand, a strange quake in his stomach, an odd tightening of muscles at the pit of his belly that made him dizzy. This new Hermione made him anxious but very, very (dare he say it) _happy._

"Do we have a deal Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione asked, extending her hand for him to shake.

His expression was unreadable except for a small twitch in the corner of his lips, like he was trying to hold in a smile. He took her hand and climbed off the bed, guiding her to the blank wall between the bathroom door and the ancient wooden desk.

"You need a library," he stated. "You're lucky I have one."

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 **A/N:** REVIEWS!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thank you all for the lovely reviews for chap 7. I know its been a while but I hope you enjoy this next chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it ;)

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

 **Chapter 9**

Draco held her hand firmly as they stood side by side across from the blank brick wall between his desk and bathroom door. He tapped a pattern on the wall with his wand three times, then flipped Hermione's hand in his, and repeated the pattern on her palm. Hermione felt a strange tingling sensation race up her fingertips and up her arm. It spread across her body all the way to the top of her head and the tips of her toes.

"What—?" she wanted to know what spell he had casted but Draco gripped her hand once more and pressed it, palm first, to the wall. The wall shimmered for a moment and dematerialized as if it never existed. There was a corridor inside but the light was too dim for her to see. The only light came from an archway at the end. What was beyond it, she couldn't tell.

Hermione looked at Draco questioningly but he took a deep breath, squeezed her hand before pulling her into the corridor. The wall re-materialized behind them and plunged them into temporary darkness. As if sensing their presence, small flames erupted above them in tiny bulb-like jars that floated in line, following the length of the passageway to the arch at the end of it.

The passage they stood in was narrow and in fact, Hermione reflected, it wasn't a passage at all. It was the inside of a wardrobe. The walls had built in wooden shelves and drawers of all sizes with neatly stacked robes, shoes, and even hats. There were a few Ministry jackets as well in varying colors and of course, other robes in complete black, as per Draco's style. The only expensive article Hermione noticed were a pair of dragon hide boots. _An old keepsake?_ Draco led Hermione towards the light at the end.

"Malfoy, this isn't a library," Hermione stated.

So distracted was she by her observations that she didn't notice when Draco had let go of her hand and come to an abrupt stop at the end of the passageway. She collided against his chest in mid-stride, stumbling as he grabbed her arms to prevent her fall while gently gripping her waist to pull her to him. They were close, too close. She smelt his cedar scent, woody with a touch of mint and pine. Hermione repressed the urge to lean forward and kiss his neck which was directly before her eyes. Thankfully he had decided to put a shirt on before he had revealed the hidden door in his room. She tried to step back in embarrassment but Draco held her firmly and tugged her flush against his chest where her hands now lay.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, his lips softly brushing her ear.

A shiver went down Hermione's spine and gooseflesh erupted on her skin. If Draco noticed, he didn't comment. Hermione closed her eyes and let Draco gently turn them around in the narrow passageway so she stood where he was standing before. With his hands on her shoulders and his chest pressed to her back, he urged her to walk forward. Hermione felt the floor under her feet change from wooden to something soft like a carpet. The light changed too. She could tell it was brighter where they stood because the intensity of the light had turned the inside of her eyelids pink. Once again Draco brought his lips to her ear and said, "Open".

Hermione's hand instantly shot up to cover her eyes from the blinding rays of the sun. For the first few seconds she saw nothing but white light and when her irises adjusted to reveal the room, she gasped. They stood in a circular room that was so tall, it extended into the sky. In the magical realm of muggle stories, this place could have been the inside of Rapunzel's tower with stone steps lining the circular walls, climbing endlessly upward to a solitary room where the trapped princess would have been kept. But this was no witch's keep, it was a library. A giant, circular library with wooden shelves carved into the walls and a stone staircase with ornate oak banisters that spiraled up to a glass skylight through which the sun shined brightly.

Hermione wished she had ten sets of eyes so as to completely take in the sight before her. The shelves were stocked with books as far up as she could see. There were leather bound books, and hardcover bound books; some books were old, a little tattered, the gold embellished titles peeling off the spine, and others were new, not a crease in sight on their bindings. There were books on potions, charms, transfiguration, magical beasts and even divination but the dark arts overshadowed most of the genres. At the centre of the room were two lounging armchairs separated by a circular table. It was one of the most beautiful private libraries Hermione had ever seen.

"What is this place?" her voice barely a whisper.

"My sanctuary," replied Draco.

Remembering with a startle that she was not alone and that this incredible hidden room was inside Malfoy Manor, Hermione quickly reigned in her awe and focused on Draco. He was leaning against the shelves beside the archway with his hands in his pockets, unable to meet her eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

With a deep sigh, Malfoy pushed himself forward and slowly walked the circumference of the room, his hands running over the spines of books so softly that Hermione wished it was her spine instead.

"This used to be a hidden cellar of sorts, where Father stored his dark artifacts and family heirlooms to keep them away from the Ministry. After he landed in Azkaban, I used to come here to escape, thinking those artifacts would bring me closer to Father somehow. That they would give me the pleasure and power they gave him. I thought, if I liked the same things he did, followed in his footsteps, then I could be _worthy_ of the Malfoy name, worthy of being my father's son. If that meant selling my freedom to a monster, then so be it." Draco paused.

His back faced Hermione as he pretended to be engrossed in reading the titles on the bookcase before him, waiting for her encouragement to speak. The silence hung between them, taut with anticipation, curiosity and the fear of rejection.

"What changed?" Hermione urged.

Malfoy turned slightly to give her a grim look mingled with a little surprise.

"Nothing," he pursed his lips, "No matter how hard I tried to be like him, I couldn't do it. I was not the son he wanted me to be, nor the man he wanted to create. Father forgot, I think, about his cellar of dark artifacts, but I never did. I came back often, initially to study the artifacts and ensure they were protected until my father's return. Then I came to escape the madness when the Dark Lord seized the manor for his own. This was the only place I could be myself without judgment. It became my sanctuary." He paused, then almost casually he added, "So, I threw away Father's artifacts and built this library instead."

Draco stood before her, eyes boring into hers with vulnerability she had not seen before. Hermione didn't know what to say or think. She had been very wrong about this man for many years and she had judged him for it too. This place was incredible, but it was still unfathomable to her that Draco Malfoy had created it.

But why did it seem so impossible? He was a clever student at Hogwarts, who aced most his classes despite his father being a school governor. He was brilliant enough to discover a passageway between two vanishing cabinets, and skilled enough to mend one! The cabinet was a tricky and volatile contraption but Draco had figured out how to repair it.

"There wasn't much to it in the start," he continued as he picked a book from the shelf and seated himself on one of the armchairs. "The cellar was small and cold. With the help of a few house-elves, I blew out the roof and attached a glass ceiling, added some wooden shelves and moved my favorite books from the family library into this one. You actually helped build it into what it is today."

" _Me_?" Hermione was astonished. Curious, she sat on the opposite unoccupied armchair and gave Malfoy her full attention.

She had never so much as exchanged words, except for insults, with Malfoy in their school days. How could she have helped him in any way? Draco smirked playfully, still pretending to read _Revolutionary Potions of the Mid-Seventeenth Century._

"The undetectable expandable charm on your purse. It was so simple, it was genius," he said and looked at her with admiration.

Hermione couldn't take her eyes off him. Malfoy, once again, had shared a private achievement of his life with her. She was well aware that she may be the only other person to whom Draco had told about his secret library. What was more astonishing was that she had influenced the completion of this place and he was giving her credit for it too, making her feel like the library was as much hers as it was his. Hermione was flattered and proud. Although minuscule, Draco had drawn inspiration from her. Of course, she wouldn't tell him this.

He looked at her earnestly, expecting an answer to his monologue. Draco was a puzzle. One day he shared his deepest secrets and treated her with dignity, the next day he hated everything she stood for and reasserted his dominance as her captor with stinging words and physical force. Right now he was vulnerable, exposing himself to her for the first time, (quite literally as well, Hermione blushed remembering his naked form on the bed earlier) like the scar on his arm. She could take advantage of his new found trust, retaliate and mock him the way he had mocked her at Hogwarts but Hermione could never have the heart to do that, no matter how much she disliked him.

The problem was, she wasn't sure if she disliked him anymore. He was intelligent and he possessed immense talent. This library proved as much, but he was struggling to escape his past. Still, it was commendable that someone who was so deeply ingrained in the ideologies of his peers had realized the wrong of it. A feat like that took courage because it comes with frustrations and internal battles. Could Hermione really be witness to such a change, an aid even, to the transformation of one of the most notorious wizards of her generation?

She wanted to find out. So in response to his confession she smiled at him.

"The library is beautiful," said Hermione. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Malfoy's stiff face slowly melted into a smile, his eyes returned to his book but they were evidently pleased by her comment. Hermione couldn't help but smile too. _I must be going mental_ , she thought.

o-o-o

Since the day Draco showed Hermione his library, they spent their mornings before he left for work, and their evenings, when he returned, researching in mutual and comfortable silence. Draco pretended to read a book for their research on scars and healing _,_ but secretly he watched Hermione explore. Each day she was on a new landing, meticulously reading every title as she circled the shelves. Once in awhile she plucked a book from the shelf and rifled through the pages. If there was nothing that caught her attention then she placed the book back in its place and continued her search. Occasionally her eyes would widen and she would settle into the empty lounge chair next to him to read. When she scrunched her eyebrows, Draco knew she had found something interesting. On the first day of their routine, Hermione asked for parchment, a quill and ink. The more she read the more notes she made in her tiny neat script, and soon the table between the armchairs was overflowing with sheets of parchment that spilled onto the floor in unraveling reels.

He shuffled the parchment into a neat pile with his wand and placed the breakfast tray on the table. As promised, they had begun to eat their meals together, and Draco'd appetite had grown in a week. Though, if he was being honest, it was not the food that he looked forward to, it was spending time with Hermione. They barely spoke unless it was about something that Hermione had found while researching, and they stole frequent glances at each other. Draco preferred this over their spitting matches and cruel words.

Draco spotted her on the fifth landing and called out to her. Hermione leaned over the railing at the sound of his voice and smiled brightly. As of late she had taken to wearing his shirts to bed and as she descended the stairwell, Draco gazed unabashedly at her exposed legs. He sucked in a quick breath and schooled his features into his usual pompous mask before she caught him staring. Although, sometimes he thought he had seen her smirking when he gazed at her.

"Good morning," he said.

Hermione plopped onto an armchair, grabbing a piece of toast with her free hand. Foregoing the pleasantries, she opened the book in her lap and announced "Look what I've found!"

She didn't wait to show him but launched straight into a reading, " _Magic of the darkest kind will almost always leave a mark upon the inflicted, but the effect of the spell and the depth of the wounds or scars will depend on the intentions of the spell caster. If the intentions of the spell caster are malicious, deliberate, calculated and backed with intense hatred, then recovery from the effect of the spell is nearly impossible. However, in accidental cases, cases of low malicious intent, or if immediate treatment is received, then the wounds left by dark magic will heal quicker. Of course, readers must note that no formal study has been conducted to prove this theory but instead is a conclusion reached by many St. Mungo's Healers interviewed for this book-"_

"Well that information is of no help," Draco cut in. "If they can't prove it, why did they mention it?"

Hermione gave him a little huff and glare. "It's useful because we know that the scar can be healed."

"My scar is already healed," he pointed out. "That's why it's a scar and not a gaping wound."

"Yes, but what if the same logic applied to after-care healing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. St. Mungo's healers would obviously give priority to wounds that are open and injuries that are immediately life threatening because their purpose at that moment is to save lives. So, once a person is healed, healthy and alive, after-care becomes low priority."

"Right," Draco said thoughtfully, "So the healers wouldn't have conducted enough post-check ups for them to conclude if the scars left by dark spells can be healed as quickly as wounds."

"Exactly," Hermione said, eyes twinkling, "and most people wouldn't bother treating their scars further if their healer is not paying it any mind either. Unless of course it was a scar that was visible, then I bet most witches would look for cosmetic charms-"

Hermione gasped and clapped her hand on her forehead. "Of course!" she exclaimed as she jumped out of the armchair and began searching the shelves once more.

Draco grinned. He was really enjoying watching Hermione puzzle this out. Her frantic thoughts and corresponding scribbling, the vigor with which she plunged into research, the sparkle in her eyes when a realization or idea came to that brilliant brain, he liked it all. His heart swelled.

 _Merlin he liked her_ , but he didn't deserve to. A sudden dread replaced his euphoria. He didn't deserve her or this time they were spending together. Hermione was not here by choice and fo this past week he had forgotten that he had brought her here. Whatever this routine was that they had fallen into, it was unreal. A lie. In the real world she would never return his feelings, they might never have crossed paths again after the war. In another time he would only be a familiar face from the past that she acknowledged once a year at platform 9 ¾'s as she kissed her children goodbye till Christmas.

Draco felt his heart clenching, his breathing hitching as an inexplicable sense of panic set in. Like sand was slipping from his hands and he could do nothing but watch it slip through his fingertips. He didn't want this to end. He wanted Hermione with him. A part of him had realized that last week when she had fallen ill after her drunken dip in the tub. He thought he had lost her, that he was going to cause her death. Never in his life had he cried for a woman other than his mother but watching Hermione struggle with her consciousness had evoked emotions he didn't know he had. Then he was desperate to have her back, conscious and alive. He had promised himself he would control his anger, his harsh words, _himself,_ because he rather give her peace than sorrow while she stayed with him.

Draco looked up at the shelves. With each step Hermione took as she read the titles on the shelves, she ascended to the skylight, leaving him in the dark pit. The sun was bright at the top, highlighting the flecks of gold in her hair and reflecting off her white shirt like a golden halo. Draco chuckled darkly. How fitting. She was a princess, a heroine, a goddess after all. And the gods don't play with the devils.

Draco looked away from the blinding sight, the image of her forever seared in his mind, on his heart. He saw the folded pieces of parchment on the table with her scribbled notes and his untouched breakfast. He had the sudden urge to rip the parchment to shreds but he clenched his fists painfully tight and controlled it. All this research she was doing for him but to what avail?

None of this made sense. Her kindness, her submission, their quiet truce. Why was Hermione helping him? She had absolutely no reason to. Then again, why was he being kind to her? He was a kidnapper, a death eater and she was his victim.

"Draco, you wouldn't happen to have any books on cosmetic magic would you?" Hermione had returned with a book in hand. She wasn't even looking at him as he spoke. Nose buried in "200 years of beauty: a collection of the most magical salves, spells and hexes from Witch Weekly's ''What a Witch!' column", Hermione took her seat on the couch again, cross legged so her shirt hitched up, exposing her thighs.

Seeing her sitting in comfort, talking to him like he was an old friend, unaware of him and the things she made him feel, ignoring the true situation they were in was steadily making Draco irritable. Could she not see how absurd this is? That they could never be friends, or what Draco truly wanted to be, partners? That this exchange would never exist outside of these walls?

"Does it look like I care about cosmetics?" Draco snapped.

Hermione blinked up in surprise, her attention completely on him now. His tone was harsher than he had intended but suddenly it felt right. She should know, should understand that she was a captive and he ought to start behaving like the captor that he was. Hermione put her book down.

"Is something the matter?" She asked.

"No," he answered, "I just don't think you're as clever as you think. Why would a man, a wizard, have books on cosmetic magic?" What was he saying? He was supposed to be belittling her, not giving her more reason to think of him as an immature fool.

"Well I found this book," Hermione held up the book in her hands, her tone expressed her annoyance, "So I assumed you would have some more."

"Well you assumed wrong."

Hermione gave him a pointed look, closed the book in her lap and turned to face him entirely.

"You're right. You are a wizard and I shouldn't have assumed that you would have books on cosmetic magic. Merlin knows Ron and Harry never even knew about it. But I think cosmetic magic can help us diminish the appearance of your scar. Actually I should have thought about it sooner. It's so obvious but because I've never delved into cosmetic magic, so I didn't take it into account," Hermione explained.

How can she be so calm, unfazed while he argued like a pathetic teenager?

"Are you daft? Do you not see what is happening here?" Draco sneered. He wanted to break her calm, make her realize the reality of the situation they were in.

"What are you talking about Draco?" Hermione asked patiently.

"This. Us. Have you forgotten that I brought you here? That you're a captive?"

"Not at all," she retorted, "I'm reminded of it every morning I wake up."

"Then why are you helping me? Don't you want to escape this place? Have me arrested?" he countered, anger seeping through his voice.

"Of course I do," she said as if it was the most matter of fact statement, "But I've accepted that I can't escape. You've put in all the right measures to make sure of that. So I'm doing what I know best while I wait for you to let me go: I'm doing some good."

 _So that's it, is it? Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger's new pity project._ Draco's stomach churned in shame and disappointment.

"Some good," he scoffed, "Why not help this poor lost soul? Show him some kindness that he might appreciate the Light? Is that it?"

"No," Hermione said, avoiding his eyes.

"You're a terrible liar, Granger," he snapped. He was angry now. His speculations were right and the truth had never tasted so bitter. He got up to leave but Hermione caught his arm.

"Draco, please. Let's talk about this," she got up too, keeping a firm grip on his arm.

"I have no reason to talk to you," he seethed, pushing her hand off his arm, "I'm in control here." But he didn't feel in control at all. In fact Hermione was in control. She had been for a while and from the expression on her face, he knew that she knew it too.

"Of course," Hermione said, raising her arms up in defense and retreating.. She settled into the lounging chair again, knees up, balancing the book on her lap. Hermione was blatantly ignoring his presence, like he was a child throwing a tantrum who would come around when his feelings sorted themselves out. Draco didn't like being ignored, especially not now. He knew he was behaving immaturely but he didn't like this new dynamic in their relationship. Since when had she gained the upper hand? Learned to manipulate him like this? How dare she make him feel the way he felt, make him want her so desperately?

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he demanded, his voice low. Hermione gave him a quick side glance but her rigid posture and pursued lips told him that she wasn't reading anymore. He had her now.

Draco sat at the edge of her lounging chair. "Look at me Hermione," he said again, softly this time and she did. She put on a brave face but her eyes gave away her nervousness. Draco took the book out of her hands with little resistance from her and tossed it unto the floor. She looked indignant at his treatment of the book but chose to remain silent. Draco placed his hands on her knees. The shirts she was wearing lately did nothing to curb the desire he felt for her since their last kiss. Those exposed legs and her wild bed hair had him yearning to spoil her, touch her, conquer her. Sometimes he thought she was doing it purposely, stretching out her legs as she lounged and read, or purposefully tried to obtain a book beyond her reach and the shirt lifted dangerously up her thighs. Or when Hermione swept her hair off her shoulder and the collar of his too loose shirt slipped to flaunt her neck. Was it just his imagination? Could they possibly have a chance to be together? Draco wanted to know, he needed to know if he meant anything to her besides a redemption project.

"You can do all the good you like," he said tracing his hands down her calves to her ankles, making her flesh erupt in goosebumps. "But I won't." He wrapped one hand around each of her ankles and Hermione's toes curled but she didn't break his gaze, defiant to the very end. "Because I'm a bad wizard and it would serve you best to remember that," he said, yanking her ankles and making her legs fall open to him.

In one quick movement, Draco propelled himself forward between her legs and pinned her down with his torso as his lips connected with hers. Surprised, Hermione pushed against his chest in defence but her attempt was feeble. Draco kissed her roughly, sucking her bottom lip, then her top. His hands moved to her hips and waist in a bruising hold, then they were in her hair pulling her head back to expose her neck to him. He pressed his body firmly into hers and maybe he was dreaming this, but Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer to her as she kissed him back. Her small hands first clutched the collar of his shirt pulling him unto her and then her nails dug into his shoulders when he parted her lips with his tongue, responding to his heated kiss with her own energy. Draco was lost, his mind blank. All he could see and feel was her. Her small body writhing beneath him, his hands sliding up her smooth exposed thighs to tease the swell of her bum, and the way she mewled when he ground his manhood between her legs. Everything was unreal. This couldn't be him, and the passionate witch in his arms, inviting him to possess her so lustfully couldn't possibly be Hermione Granger.

If this was a dream, Draco didn't want it to end. This past week had been a blessing to him. He had found an odd sense of peace for the first time since Voldemort entered his life in sixth year; a simplicity and routine he imagined was lost to him. If he could have this for the rest of his life he would give up the Malfoy name to have it with her. Draco softened his kisses. He held Hermione gently, pecking her lips, her jaw and neck. He ran his fingers slowly, teasingly along her arms, her collar, her spine. He felt her frantic heart relax under him and match her breathing match his. Eyes closed, Draco buried his face in her neck, letting her cinnamon scent engulf him.

Hermione didn't say a word, she wasn't fighting him either. Draco didn't want to break the spell they were in because a part of him still felt like this was a dream, an unreal moment that would disappear if he looked at her face and saw the horror he had seen the last time they kissed.

Then, Draco felt the strangest sensation. Hermione wrapped her small arms around his shoulders and began brushing the back of his head with her fingers. Soft, gentle strokes mixed with little patterns and drawings. And suddenly, he was falling apart in her comforting arms. Draco cried thick tears that unburdened him from the pain, the loneliness, the sorrow, the fear, and the expectations of his past. He gave himself up completely to his emotions and cried for his lost childhood, his innocence, his mother who he couldn't protect, his father who he couldn't love and cried for them, Hermione and him, because he knew their time was limited, that his happiness was limited.

Hermione hummed a tune, a lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was younger, and stroked Draco's hair, never revealing her tears to him.

* * *

 **A/N** : Hi Everyone. I know it's been too long since I updated but many things were happening in my life. But I hope I made it up with this chapter. As always, I love your feedback and reviews!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'm very sorry. I know it's been a while. I promise more updates are coming. Please don't give up on me!**

* * *

 **Love Like Oxygen**

 **Chapter 10**

Hermione wiped the tears from her face and sighed. Draco was asleep in her arms, his breath slow and even, tickling her throat. Her arms and legs were wrapped around his body in a protective embrace. She combed her fingers through his hair, more to soothe herself than him.

This had become a new ritual of theirs. Every night he would come home, then without hesitation he would pluck the book she was engrossed in from her hands and carry her from the library with her legs wrapped around his torso back to his bed, and snog her till they were out of breath. Then he would curl up against her and fall asleep.

Witnessing Draco's sorrow that night had broken something in Hermione and after her latest find, she understood why he clung to her like she was his lifeline.

The guilt of the last few weeks came pouring out in silent tears once again. _It's going to be okay_ , it would pass, she hoped. She was doing this for them.

At first Hermione had felt liberated when Draco brought her to the library. She was finally reunited with the beings she loved best: books and knowledge. She threw herself into research, scavenging the shelves like a starving lioness. She forgot that she was a captive at Malfoy Manor..

In fact, for the first time since the end of the war, Hermione partook in the things she enjoyed doing purely for leisure. She could finally spend time with herself, relax and get lost in a literary world that was entirely her own. Unbeknownst to herself, Hermione had become comfortable at Malfoy Manor and in Draco's presence - as if this was the life she had once dreamt of and wanted after the war. Only, the company she shared in her dreams had a bright head of red hair and freckles. _No_ , she would not think of Ron right now.

Draco was being unusually accommodating too. He was eating his meals with her, as he promised he would. It was slow progress, but his portions had increased considerably. They spent weekends in amicable silence, reading in the morning and afternoon. When she had something to share about their research, she would, and slowly he began to trust her. And the nights... Hermione blushed. They hadn't gotten far, but the way his hands roamed her body made all rational thoughts disappear from her mind - including the thought of Ron.

It was on an evening just like tonight, that Hermione realized how she had lost track of reality. Draco had entered the library with a tray of food and Hermione, seeing him, and immediately cleared the table of her parchment and books. Without a word to each other, they had set the table, eaten, cleaned up, and gone to bed in a synchronized routine that she had only seen her parents achieve after years of marriage.

It was too normal, too comfortable and utterly false.

The next day when Draco went to work, she started her real research-looking for a way out. With nobody to interrupt and without fear of being caught, she searched the library for information about the manor. Draco might be different from his father but he was still a Malfoy and when he built this library, he was still a blood supremist. There had to be books that recorded his family history, the manor's magical history and its construction. She was sure of it.

As always, Hermione was right.

There was a historical record of the Malfoy family in a large leather bound journal. The white peacock embroidered on the cover was the only clue to what it may contain. However, what Hermione found inside was a complete surprise. The journal contained entries on everything from family births to weddings and courtship, to political alliances and major events that had nearly destroyed the family-all written in different hands by the ruling matron of the house.

The journal was magicked to reveal entries as far back as four centuries, and as the writer approached the end of the journal the pages automatically multiplied for endless journaling. The style of the entries changed dramatically from the past to the present as well. The earlier pages were similar to reports, shortlists, devoid of emotions and limited to the factual reporting of major events that occurred at Malfoy Manor. The penmanship was archaic too like the language. Hermione read as far into the past as she could until the entries became a formal French and it took two pages until Hermione realized that the language was different, not just the penmanship.

The entries changed dramatically at the beginning of the 20th century when Lady Septimus Malfoy took over as the Matron of the Manor at a tender age of seventeen. She shared anecdotes with her deepest fears and secrets. Her predecessors followed her example, including Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa's last entry which was also the final entry in the book was dated the day Lucius had answered Voldemort's call to the graveyard in Draco's fourth year:

" _I've lost him for good this time._ _ **HE**_ _is back and Lucius has gone to Him. I fear for Draco. This is the end, I know it."_

It was a rare glimpse into the mother and wife that Narcissa truly was underneath her title as Lady Malfoy.

Hermione had cried again that day as she watched Narcissa make her customary evening rounds around the garden. A mother's pain was universal, and although Hermione was not a mother yet, Teddy Lupin had taken up a place in her heart these past few years to make her realize that she wanted to be a mother one day too. Hermione could see the struggle Narcissa had gone through to keep her family together and to protect Draco. But not even Lily Evans had been able to completely protect her son against a monster like Voldemort, so how could a woman whose entire life was entrenched in the dark arts protect Draco from ruin?

Hermione sighed deeply and looked down at Draco's sleeping form. The circles under his eyes were less prominent but fatigue was evident still in his body. Once again, Hermione was conflicted. She cared for him, she knew that, but was it more than just that? Or were her circumstances forcing her to believe that she cared for him?

Draco started in her arms, his breathing hitched. He mumbled incoherently in his sleep and his grip around her waist grew rigid. Hermione stroked his back to comfort him, but he awoke startled. His eyes were glazed silver, searching for something that wasn't there. When he realized his surroundings, he looked down at Hermione, taking in her ruffled clothes and appearance. She sat holding her breath, still as she could be, so as not to startle him further. The sudden onslaught of cold air made the hair stand up on her arms and legs. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the ministrations that had gotten them in this position.

Draco's heart was struggling to break free from his chest. She looked so beautiful gazing at him in the moonlight with the same brown eyes that he had just been dreaming about-having a nightmare would be more appropriate.

It was one he had had several times before: Hermione writhing and screaming under Bellatrix's hold as his aunt carved the word _Mudblood_ into her arm. Most of his sleeping moments consisted of scenes from the war and Hermione was a prominent appearance. In his dreams she was always trapped and he was incompetent, unable to help her because he was too scared of the consequences.

 _But how is reality any different?_ She was still trapped in this manor, and he was too incompetent to face the consequences of his actions and his feelings. _His feelings_. Merlin.

Hermione had held Draco through several breakdowns now. Her presence was strangely comforting. He could be himself with her, unafraid and safe. But she couldn't possibly feel the same. Why would she? Hermione was here against her will, uprooted from her real life. And a few kisses won't change that.

Yet, he couldn't help himself. He was drawn to her like a snuffler to silver.

Too shy to hold his gaze, she looked away embarrassed. Lately, his gaze held more than desire, something new that she reciprocated.

Draco absently traced his fingertips along her arm and then across her _mudblood_ scar. She silently watched him bring her arm to his lips and softly kiss each letter from her elbow to her wrist, whispering with each breath, " _I'm sorry_."

Entwining their fingers, Draco pulled her into his chest, lightly kissing her palm and fingertips, repeating his apology like a mantra.

Hermione squeezed her eyes tight, fighting to keep her tears from falling, pretending to be asleep. She thought guiltily of the leather bound peacock journal and what she had discovered in Lady Septimus Malfoy's writings-her way out of the manor.

o-o-o

The weekend ended too quickly for Draco. Spending time with Hermione had become a conundrum. When he was with her, life held some semblance of normality. It was strange and alien but familiar. He could almost remember a time in his childhood with his family that resembled the quiet evenings that Hermione and him spent together. Food tasted better when he was with her, the library seemed brighter and work was bearable.

He laughed too! Draco couldn't remember laughing so carefreely before, not for years. She was comfortable. She was safe. And he knew that he was not alone in his thinking. From Hermione's behaviour recently, Draco was suspicious that she had grown attached to him too.

However, he could not shake his guilt. When night fell and they lay curled up in his bed, his guilt bubbled to the surface turning him sour like a potion gone wrong. He didn't deserve her presence in his life. Not after what the torment she had faced because of him and his family. So every night he lay awake apologizing in kisses and marinating in his guilt until sleep finally shut him down.

When Hermione woke him up in the mornings with gentle shakes and caresses, his guilt melted away. He always pretended to be asleep for a little longer just to enjoy the way her small hands glided through his hair and sometimes lingered. But the joy in his heart could not be falsified. Draco was changing. He felt it and others were beginning to notice.

"You look different," Zabini said thoughtfully. Draco and him were in the tea room, taking a short break. It was the end of the week, and work had dwindled.

"How so?" Draco responded.

"I can't explain it except, you look different."

When Draco didn't respond, Zabini questioned, "Found yourself a woman have you?"

Draco almost dropped his tea. Afraid that he would give himself away, he placed his cup and saucer on the table beside him.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Draco struggled to regain his composure.

"If you haven't then nevermind," Zabini leaned over and tapped the Wizarding wireless radio.

There was a crackle and then Lee Jordan's voice floated through the small contraption. His secret radio broadcast, _Potter Watch,_ had become so popular during the war that he continued to create a radio-only news station that covered stories the _Daily Prophet_ either could not or would not report. But Hermione's disappearance was too newsworthy for even Lee Jordan's underground broadcast to ignore.

" _And the search continues for war heroine, Hermione Granger. In an exclusive scoop from an anonymous source in Granger's inner circle, I have learned that Ron Weasley and Harry Potter have a suspect and are monitoring this person in their own private investigation. For obvious reasons, I cannot not reveal the suspect's name on air, but if you are listening, know that you are being watched…"_

Draco hastily rapped his wand on the radio to turn it off.

"What a load of hogwash." Were Weasley and Potter finally on to him?

"I agree, but after nearly two months of no information any news is better than facing the reality that she may be dead," Zabini turned the radio back on with an angry tap of his wand.

" _Hermione,"_ Weasley was speaking now, " _Hermione, if you are out there and listening, please know that I haven't given up on you. I will find you, and when I catch that bastard, I will kill him-"_

" _Thank you Ron,"_ Lee Jordan's voice cut in, _"The Auror office is in their fourth week of the investigation and is yet to draw any concrete leads. Could this be sheer incompetence on their part or a deeply ingrained systematic problem, and by that I mean are they being bribed to keep their mouths shut? I'll let the listeners decide. This has been Lee Jordan on Revelio."_

Another crackle as the broadcast ended and Zabini tapped the wireless once more to turn it off. Draco's fingers had gone cold. How could Potter and Weasley possibly know? Were they really watching him? If the Auror department had found nothing, then how could these two? Weasley never liked him and that hadn't changed since the war ended, but Potter had testified for him. Could Weasley have changed Potter's mind?

"What do you think?" Zabini cut into Draco's thoughts.

"What do mean?"

"About Granger of course," scoffed Zabini, "At first, I thought she might have run off for a few days, but it's been a long time since she disappeared. She's either being kept hostage somewhere or dead and the Aurors are yet to find a body."

Draco swallowed. Fists clenching and unclenching, he tried to keep his panic at bay. He couldn't reveal himself to Zabini, and he had to be extra careful in his interactions with others at the ministry.

"Dead or alive, what's it to me?" Draco replied tersely.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" Zabini's tone was suspicious now, "I mean what if she's really dead?"

"Doesn't seem like it. Didn't Jordan say that Potter and Weasley have a suspect?"

"Sounds like a farce really. A way to lure out her abductor if there is one. Besides, the sooner they find her, preferably alive, the better. Her disappearance is causing too much trouble for the rest of us."

Draco looked at Zabini quizzically.

Zabini's eyes widened in surprise. "You must have noticed! Haven't you seen the way people stare at us? As if we were responsible for Granger."

No, Draco hadn't. He walked the hallways of the ministry with his head down. Being a former death-eater earned him a lot of stares even now. His number one goal since joining the ministry was to avoid trouble, which meant avoiding people as well. Abducting Granger was an accident, and the only time his emotions went unchecked. He hadn't considered people's animosity to be any different than before.

"Us? You and I?" Draco asked.

"Not only you and I. Most of the Slytherins from the final battle too. Goyle nearly got into a fight earlier at the cafeteria with MacMillian. Pansy can't get a story for the _Prophet_ anymore because no one wants to talk to her. She's the Ministry Correspondence and she can't even bloody do her job."

If what Zabini was saying is true, then public sentiment for war-time Slytherins had gotten worse because of Draco.

"Granger's disappearance is reigniting old prejudices," continued Zabini, "and you don't seem the least bit concerned."

"Their prejudices aren't old," Draco said pointedly, "They've always existed."

"Yes, but now they have an excuse to be publicly vocal about them. And with the government being pro-Potter, if the tension worsens then Aurors will be coming for all the former death eaters first. Including you."

Zabini's words fell like stones in Draco's stomach. His actions were having major consequences on the society they lived in and he felt foolish. He had kidnapped Hermione Granger, not some common witch. She was one of threads that had sown the fabric of the post-war wizarding world, but this new society was still volatile and incomplete. If one thread was lose, all it would take is a tug, and in a matter of minutes the peace they had fought for would unravel.

Draco had made a very dangerous mistake, and he had to find a way to fix it, but the cost might be too high.

* * *

 **A/N: Stay with me. The story is still on. Review and like!**


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